Mortality
by Kissy Fishy
Summary: After years of being hidden, the Druid prince has run away… to the mortal kingdom of Camelot. His rash actions nearly start a war, but there are worse dangers afoot, like Emrys not wanting to be Emrys anymore. He'd much rather be mortal, with friends and fun. He'd rather be Merlin. A modern AU. Mostly canon pairings.
1. Flight

**This story follows the plot of the show... a little. I have taken a lot of creative license. But rest assured that every change I have made was well researched, whether into the show's canon or the legend itself. **

**This story is in three parts. Thank you for clicking. Please enjoy.**

* * *

_Part 1: Nimueh_

* * *

_From the _Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed. _

_After King Apollo fled the mortal kingdom and established the Druid kingdom, his sole heir was the target of many assassination attempts due to the boy being young and incapable of powerful magic. Because of this the king hid his son from the world until he was a fully realized warlock and ready to take the throne. It has become Druid tradition for the prince to stay anonymous, sometimes even being sent away from the kingdom to train in safety until his coronation._

**Chapter One**

**Flight**

The dogs skittered across the dried leaves of the forest floor, panting from all the running. Their noses were pressed to the ground, sniffing loudly at the trail they seemed to have lost. In the darkness, it was difficult to see, but the hounds could hear and smell well enough.

Abruptly, one of them caught the faint scent of their prey, and with a howl took off sprinting again.

Behind the dogs came flickering beams of light, soon revealed to be flashlights in the hands of pursuing hunters. They caught up with the hounds easily, dodging the trees as they bolted through the woods. Suddenly the dogs came to a stop again, forcing the men to halt.

Panting, one of them swung his flashlight around. The beam illuminated patches of grass and leaves, and occasionally one of the hounds. "Did we lose him?" he asked.

"No," responded another. His voice was majestically deep. "He's still around here." There was a clicking: the unmistakable sound a gun being cocked. The man raised his arm, pointing the barrel into the trees. "There," he stated, and he pulled the trigger.

A man—young, thin, barely out of boyhood—gave a terrific cry, and crashed onto the ground. His eyes snapped open and he grunted with pain. The bullet had ripped through his left shoulder, causing him to drop the long, thinly wrapped package in his hands. Hot blood was running down his chest and pooling on the fallen foliage.

Behind him, he could hear the shouts of his hunters. _No,_ he thought, begged. _Not here._ The man forced himself to his feet and darted through the trees. No time to collect what he had dropped. The pain in his arm was excruciating, but he ignored it. As he ran, the color gold flashed in his eyes, illuminating them for only an instant.

There was a creaking noise, and as the man charged through the trees, they began to collapse. Every tree he passed snapped at the trunk or came uprooted completely, falling against each other and blocking his pursuers—hopefully crushing a few in the process.

"Stop!" shouted the man with the gun, and his posse screeched to a halt. One of them was ill positioned, and a tree came down on top of him. The others retreated hastily, slipping on the slick leaves on the floor. "Oh, he's powerful," the man said calmly.

Another one of the hunters blinked. "He just _killed _David!" he cried.

"Be thankful it wasn't you, Arthur," the man replied. He swung his flashlight around to shine on the other hunter, revealing him to be young and quite handsome.

"He was our _friend,_" Arthur hissed. "Or have you forgotten, Father?"

"He was our colleague, there's a difference," his father, the man with the gun, snapped. He glanced down, and shone his light on the leaves under his feet. "Oh," he said gleefully. "Look at this."

Immediately the others crowded around, partly out of curiosity and partly out of obligation. In the leaves before them were a few speckles of blood. And not just any blood.

Arthur's father reached out and dipped his fingers in it. He looked up and saw his son's disgust, which made him scowl. "Arthur, this is not the blood of a man. He is an animal, understand that."

"Yes sir," Arthur replied automatically.

Mildly satisfied, his father returned his gaze to the blood. "Ah, look," he said, much too happily. He turned the flashlight on his hand, putting the blood in the spotlight. "See?" he whispered. "It shimmers."

Arthur was entranced. The blood of a magical creature was a sight rarely seen. It was red, like normal blood, but in the light, it had a sort of glimmer about it, like oil. How strangely beautiful, he thought.

"Sire," one of the men called. Arthur's father turned the flashlight on him, revealing the man to be holding a thin, long package.

"What's that?" Arthur queried.

The man handed it to Uther, who looked at it in earnest. Arthur watched by the light of the torch in his hand as his father's eyes gleaned with excitement. Carefully, he gripped the package in both hands, trying to determine which end was the top.

Arthur's first thought was that it was a broomstick, since it looked like the broom packages in Harry Potter. He assumed it was a Firebolt or something.

However, as Uther tore off the tip of the wrapping, he saw that he was very, very wrong.

"Oh," Uther breathed, and there was genuine glee in his eyes. He pulled the stick from the wrapping, revealing the hand-carved and bejeweled staff in its entirety. "Gentlemen, pursue him," he ordered with a strange note of happiness. "The Druid prince is escaping."

* * *

Merlin's uncle Gaius ran a small clinic that was within walking distance of the Pendragon Institute. He happened to be the extremely trusted physician to the Pendragon family, and well liked by mostly everyone. But right now, Merlin hated him.

"Gah!" Merlin cried in pain, biting on his fist.

Gaius peeled the sleeve of his nephew's shirt back and frowned. "You tried to heal it with magic, didn't you?" he sighed.

"Was I not supposed to?" snapped Merlin.

The elderly man gave him a look of disbelief. "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, these are anti-magic bullets! Any contact with magic and the wound is worsened tenfold."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Good thing someone told me that, then." He gasped as Gaius dabbed gingerly at the wound, the pain making spots appear before his eyes.

"What were you doing, walking to Camelot, anyways?" Gaius questioned. He grimaced at the sight of the injury, and Merlin looked pointedly away.

"I couldn't drive," he stated. "They have those magic scanners now. And I don't have a car. I hitchhiked to the border and ran across."

"And happened to run into Uther," Gaius added quietly.

Merlin blinked. "So that was Uther," he realized. "He _shot_ me." He sighed. "I must have the worst luck."

"You're a sorcerer in Camelot," stated the doctor. "Not only that, you're the _prince _of sorcerers. Did you expect _good_ luck?" He set down his cleansing sponge and went to the cabinet. "Speaking of being a prince, where's your staff?"

Merlin bit his lip shamefully. "Yeah… that."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, I was carrying the staff in my… left hand," Merlin began. "And they shot my left shoulder."

"And you dropped it!?" Gaius shouted.

Merlin looked away, his ears growing hot. "Well… maybe."

Gaius's entire form sagged. "_Merlin!_" he cried in agony.

"Sorry!" Merlin tried.

"Do you even know what that staff _is?_"

Merlin rolled his eyes. He had heard this spiel a thousand times from his father back home. "Hand-carved by the angels, each heir has one, unique to himself, blah blah blah."

"And you _lost yours!_"

"I get it!" Merlin shouted. "I told you I had bad luck."

Gaius snorted. "At your rate I expect you'll be at Uther's feet by the end of the week."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," Merlin said sarcastically.

Gaius returned to his nephew, holding a roll of medical gauze. He unfurled it and began wrapping it around Merlin's shoulder. "Hold still!" he ordered as Merlin squirmed.

"It hurts!" the boy complained.

"It's your own fault!" Gaius retorted.

Merlin scowled, not in the mood to argue with his uncle. "So," he said when the bandage had been fully wrapped, "what's this school I'm going to?"

Gaius shrugged as he cleaned up. "Where did Hunith say you were going?"

"The Pendragon Institute."

The old man dropped the roll of gauze. It bounced on the counter and rolled onto the floor, some of it coming undone. "You really do have bad luck," Gaius stated. He knelt down and picked up the bandaging with a grunt. "Or your mother wants you dead."

"Is that the school Uther owns?" Merlin asked. When Gaius nodded, he sighed, "I knew it. I told her the name was familiar, but no, all she cared about was how prestigious it was." He shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"Nothing you can do now," Gaius stated. "Maybe this is where your destiny meant for you to go."

Merlin scowled. "My destiny wants me dead." A laugh escaped him, remembering his encounter with the dragon. "Yeah, that dragon wasn't too fond of me. He didn't even give me the whole story. He just said, 'Your destiny lies in Camelot.' Oooooh," Merlin said creepily. "So mysterious and vague."

"All of them are like that," Gaius replied. He sat down next to his nephew on the patient bed. "My dragon told me that if I walked in circles enough, I would find my destiny."

The two of them laughed. When it died down, Gaius turned to Merlin. "Can you cook?" he queried.

Merlin shrugged. "I suppose."

Gaius clapped him on the shoulder, making Merlin wince painfully. "Then you're making breakfast tomorrow. Good night." He used Merlin's arm to help himself stand, making the young warlock gasp with agony.

"Good night," he managed in response, eyes watering.

* * *

Merlin's room was nothing special. A long time ago, he and his mother Hunith had stayed in the same room, before the Second Great Purge had struck full force and before his mother had been exiled completely to the Druid lands. It was a vague memory, mostly one of the ceiling. The bed looked as if it had been there twenty years or longer, though the sheets were fresh. If anything, Gaius was clean.

Boxes, however, littered the floor. Hunith had been slowly sending Merlin's things to her brother, mostly clothes and a few sentimental belongings. Gaius had left them packed, probably to let Merlin do it.

He looked around, hoping to see that familiar curved case, but it was not there. He sighed in disappointment. His mother had sent his guitar ahead of him, but he had apparently beaten it.

Merlin sat down on the bed, intending to think about his new life and what it would hold, but suddenly he realized just how tired he was. Head drooping, he threw off his shoes and removed his jeans without standing up.

It felt so good to lie down after the horrifying run from the witch hunters. Sleep came quickly, and mercifully, he did not dream.

* * *

"Merlin!"

Merlin jumped awake. Gaius was standing over him, a sight Merlin was not used to. Startled, he scrambled amongst his sheets. "What the hell!" he cried, panicking.

"Get up!" Gaius yelled. "I need someone to watch the clinic!"

"What clinic?"

Gaius sighed. "I have to meet with my medical supplier. Get yourself to the front desk in five minutes. Go!" Huffing at the ignorance of boys, Gaius stormed out of the room.

Merlin yawned widely and looked around for a clock. He found one behind his bed, on the little stand that had not been there in his memories. Nine-thirty. Exhausted, he sat up and found his pants.

A few minutes later, still flattening his hair, Merlin emerged from his room and sat down heavily in the spinning chair behind the desk. His eyes immediately shut, hoping to sleep again.

"I'm going!" Gaius announced, causing Merlin to snap awake again.

"Mm," Merlin replied with a wave.

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, before finally departing through the clinic door.

Hours passed. Merlin was utterly bored. At first, he did what he usually did when bored—magic. But then that became a very bad idea when a client walked in asking to make an appointment. So Merlin sought something else to do.

His fingers itched for his guitar, somewhere en route to the clinic. Instead, Merlin constructed men out of paperclips and arranged them in battle formation. He thumbed through Gaius's collection of herbal remedies books. When he finally realized he was hungry, he went to the kitchen and found a bag of walnuts, which he poured into a bowl along with a pack of M&M's and took back with him to the desk.

Merlin was just starting to give his paperclip army M&M ammo when the bell dinged on the front door, and in strolled one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.

She was perfect. Her eyes were like chocolate, her skin was dark and warm, and her curly black hair fell about her angelic face. But what made her truly beautiful was her smile. It was nothing short of gorgeous, friendly and bright. She stopped short when she saw Merlin.

"Oh," she said. She giggled uncertainly. "Where's Gaius?"

Merlin cracked a smile. "He had a meeting with a supplier."

"Oh," the girl said again. "And who are you?" she wondered.

"I'm Merlin," he laughed. "I'm, uh, Gaius's nephew. I'll be helping out here for awhile."

The girl nodded agreeably. "Well, um, I'm Gwen," she introduced, with a silly little curtsy to match her purple dress. She giggled again. Merlin had to smile. She was adorably awkward. "I've come to fill, um, the Lady Morgana's prescription."

Merlin hesitated. "Well, I really have no idea what to do about that," he admitted sheepishly. "But, er, you can leave it here, and when Gaius comes back, he can fill it, and then I'll bring it to you later."

Gwen blinked. "You'll bring it?" she said, her voice wrought with disbelief.

"Just because I'm bored doesn't mean I'm lazy," Merlin pointed out teasingly.

Pursing her lips, Gwen laughed. "All right," she agreed. "Gaius will tell you where to bring it." She reached into her purse and pulled out three empty pill bottles, one by one, and set them on the counter. "I'll see you later, then."

Merlin nodded, definitely hoping so, and watched her leave. She cast him an embarrassed glance back and seemed to blush as she walked out the door.

When Gaius finally returned, Merlin was doodling very poor cartoons on the margins of patient questionnaires.

"Stop that!" Gaius ordered, snatching the papers from him.

"Well I'm bored!" Merlin exclaimed. "I can't use magic, all your books are boring, and you don't even have a computer back here! You know how long I've wanted to play with a computer? It's half the reason I'm here!"

"And the other half?" Gaius demanded. "Your mother's letter was very vague."

"I told you." He grinned. "Dragon call."

Gaius rolled his eyes. "Yes, but what exactly did it _say?_"

Merlin scrunched up his face, thinking hard. Gaius threw up his hands in exasperation. "Hey, I was half asleep!" Merlin protested. "Um… 'your destiny lies in Camelot, beware the witch Fey,' whatever. Normal stuff."

Gaius squinted. "Fey?" he repeated. "Who is Fey?"

"I don't know," Merlin said with a shrug.

"Don't treat this so lightly, Merlin, your dragon call is very serious business!"

"Oh come on, Gaius!" exclaimed Merlin. "It was run of the mill 'don't eat yellow snow' stuff! Fey is no one, and even if she _is_ someone, I'm Emrys! I moved a mountain!"

"It is exactly that sort of cockiness that will be your downfall, Merlin," Gaius warned.

Merlin made a face. It was time to change the subject. "Oh, a girl named Gwen stopped by to refill a prescription. I told her I'd drop it off for her later."

Gaius froze. "You did?" he repeated.

Merlin did not like the change in Gaius's tone. "Yeah, why?"

Gaius pursed his lips. "Oh. Nothing. Here, we'll bring Gwen the medicine now." He grabbed the empty pill bottles and waddled to the storeroom.

Frowning, Merlin watched him go. "All right," he said uncertainly. He thought Gaius had wanted him here to do the walking around part, but whatever made the old man happy.

After a few minutes, Gaius returned with the pill bottles in a white paper bag. "All right, Merlin, let's go. Come now, hurry up."

Merlin followed the old man out of the clinic, taking a moment to enjoy his denim jeans that weren't in style in the DruidKingdom. He liked how they felt when he walked. "So Gaius," he asked as they strolled along the sidewalk, "how long have you been in Camelot?"

"Long enough," Gaius replied. He adjusted his blazer and tie as they walked.

"But their technology!" Merlin exclaimed, watching cars go by. "It's really incredible! Why don't _we_ have stuff like this?"

"Because it wouldn't work." Gaius smiled and nodded to a woman they passed on the sidewalk. Merlin kept quiet, even though he desperately wanted to ask why.

Instead, Merlin looked around. "Is that the citadel?" he wondered, pointing.

"Indeed." Gaius then turned up a bit of sidewalk that very obviously led to the castle.

Merlin's brow furrowed. "Where are you going?"

"Bringing Gwen the medicine," Gaius called. "Do keep up."

Panicking, Merlin rushed to catch up with Gaius. "What, she's _royalty?_" he hissed. He paused. "_She_ is the Lady Morgana?" he cried.

Gaius halted in his steps and placed a hand on Merlin's arm. "Don't be stupid," he said with a smile. "Guinevere is the Lady's handmaiden."

"Oh." Merlin sighed in relief. "Okay. That makes me feel a lot better." He swung his head around as a moped growled by. "Wow, Gaius, did you see that one?"

"This is my nephew," Gaius introduced to the guard, a traditionally armored man with a spear. "He's from the country, bless him."

The guard rolled his eyes and allowed them to pass.

Everything was much more familiar inside the citadel, as stone castles were something Merlin was used to. But he could not get over the strange feel the world had to it. In the Druid kingdom, the air was alive with magic. Everything was crisp and cool and clear as a winter's day. But here, the air had something else in it. It still pulsed, still lived, but it was a little foggy, as if Merlin were slightly near-sighted.

"Gaius, what's wrong with the air?" he murmured, focusing hard on a sharply-dressed man with a small black device in his hand.

"It's called wifi," Gaius stated. "Now come on." He trotted up the steps with Merlin close behind.

Gaius pushed through the grand door like it was a regular thing. A guard, this one in a sharp black suit (like the man from earlier) with a device in his ear (Merlin had heard of these substitutes for thought communication). He looked at Gaius and smiled. "Evening, Gaius," he greeted.

"Good evening, Leon," Gaius replied, nodding. "This is my nephew, Merlin." He touched Merlin on the shoulder. "He's just moved in with me, so I thought I'd give him the tour."

Leon grimaced. "You know how Uther doesn't like strangers," he warned.

"Oh come now, he's just a boy," Gaius retorted.

Still, Leon was hesitant. "Let me at least give him a once over, all right? Just to be safe."

Gaius agreed, and before Merlin knew what was happening he was being handled. He yelped as Leon patted him down, all over. It was very uncomfortable. Merlin had _never_ been touched by _anyone, _really. And when he had imagined being touched like this, he had always pictured a woman.

Abruptly Leon stood up and produced a large metal stick from his inner jacket. He clicked a button, and the edges of it glowed blue. "Magic detector," Leon informed him. He winked. "Just to be safe."

Merlin swallowed. Now he was screwed.

The wand scanned him without the slightest abnormality. Leon smiled. "Right, you're clean."

Merlin blinked in disbelief. "All right," he replied shakily.

Gaius touched his nose. "Left pocket," he murmured, and then set off after Leon.

Wary, Merlin slid his hand into his pocket, and his fingers touched what he recognized as a charm. A smile relaxed his features. Good old Gaius. He rushed to catch up.

"Oh, Gaius," called a deep voice. Merlin recognized it, and his blood went cold.

King Uther Pendragon strode up behind them, dressed in an immaculate suit with the Pendragon dragon branded on his hand. "Gaius," the mortal king stated, "I'm glad you are here. I need your assistance."

Gaius blinked. "All right, sire," he conceded. "Allow me to bring the lady her medicine first."

Uther suddenly saw Merlin, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Who is this?" he inquired, remotely interested.

"My nephew, Merlin," Gaius answered.

"He can bring Morgana her prescription." Uther decided. "Gaius, with me. Leon, show Marvin to Morgana." He spun on his heel and marched off, with Gaius toddling behind.

Merlin pursed his lips. "It's Merlin," he mumbled.

Leon nodded to his king, and Merlin trailed after him. "So, where are you from?" Leon inquired. He was very friendly, for a bloke dressed up in Camelot uniform.

"Um… Ealdor," Merlin said, remembering where his mother was from.

"Ealdor?" Leon repeated. He frowned. "That's in… Lot, right?"

"Yeah," Merlin confirmed. He hoped it was, anyway.

Leon smiled. "Never been. What made you move to Camelot?"

"Oh, school," Merlin replied.

"Yeah, you would be a scholar," said Leon with a grin. He took Merlin up a flight of stairs to a second landing, where he then showed the Druid prince to an authentically carved wooden door. He rapped three times. "My lady, you have a visitor."

"Tell my brother I have no interest in seeing him," snapped the voice inside.

Leon bit his lip. "Oh, they're fighting again," he mumbled. "No, my lady, it's not your brother," he said louder.

The door swung open. "Gwen?" she questioned.

Merlin's heart stopped.

It was like that pathetic television show Merlin had watched the day before, something Gaius sneeringly called "daytime television." The man had been completely enamored with the woman from just the sight of her. That was Merlin.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair consisted of dark, ebony curls, and her large eyes were piercing and green. She appeared graceful, like a ballerina.

"I've brought you your medicine," Merlin stated easily. He was proud to realize he had no problem talking to girls. He hadn't really talked to anyone before this little trip of his. "Your maiden came by earlier, and I told her I would take care of it." He held up the bag.

The Lady Morgana blinked a few times, taking in his unfamiliarity. Then her rouge lips formed a perfect smile. "Thank you," she said. "Yes, Gwen told me about you. You're working for Gaius?"

"Yes, my lady, he is my uncle," Merlin informed her with a nod. He stood up straighter, noticing he was slouching in a very unconventional way. "I'm Merlin, by the way." He extended his hand.

Beside him, Leon tensed. Merlin flinched. Was he not supposed to do that?

Morgana laughed and shook his hand. "Well, very nice to meet you Merlin." She looked him up and down. "Maybe I'll come myself next time."

Merlin beamed. "I'll be there," he answered. Inwardly, he was applauding himself. He was one cool cat, it seemed.

Abruptly, there was the sound of footsteps. Morgana poked her head out and gasped. "Uh oh." She grimaced and closed the door.

"Morgana!" A man about Merlin's age came rushing up, arm outstretched. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a white long sleeve shirt, holding in his hand a black and white ball. He barely missed Morgana's door closing. "Ah, bollocks," he swore quietly. He noticed Merlin staring and glared. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Leon looked like he wanted to answer, but Merlin beat him to it. "I'm Merlin," he declared. Merlin was feeling immensely confident at the moment. "Who are you?" he asked evenly.

The man stared at him, grinning with disbelief. "Oh," he said, "you're funny." He turned around and dropped the ball. As he exited, he proceeded to kick the ball down the corridor, as if he owned the place.

Merlin snickered. What a cocky little prick.

Leon gaped at him. "Right," he managed, his tone disbelieving. "We'll get you back to Gaius now."

* * *

They found Uther and Gaius in a study, huddled beside a large mahogany desk. Merlin's shoulder gave a twinge of pain at the sight of the mortal king. They were speaking in hushed voices, heads bent together.

Leon cleared his throat.

The two of them looked up. "Ah, Merlin," Gaius greeted, and his smile was strained.

"Are we interrupting?" Leon inquired with a slight bow.

"No, no," Uther assured him, waving him off. He leaned down and moved something on the other side of the desk. "We were just finishing." He nodded at Gaius. "Tomorrow, then," he said.

"Just give us a ring when you're ready," Gaius replied. He looked to Merlin. "Ready, boy?"

Merlin pursed his lips. "Yes," he said. He was not sure he approved of the term "boy."

Gaius nodded. "Right. Sire," he bowed, "if you will excuse us."

Merlin imitated him, figuring it was best to play it safe.

King Uther nodded. "Leon, escort them out, please."

Leon nodded once and began to lead them out.

"Oh, and bring me my son, afterwards, would you?"

"Of course, sire," Leon responded. He touched the small device in his ear and continued walking down the corridor. Merlin and Gaius followed briskly. "Valiant, do you have eyes on Arthur, over." There was a pause. "Bring him to the king. Study four. First floor." Then the knight glanced back at his charges. "Thank you for bringing the lady's prescription," he said, opening a much smaller door than the one they had entered.

Gaius smiled. "Our pleasure, Sir Leon."

The walk out of the palace grounds was disturbingly silent. Merlin kept wanting to break it, but the words continued to die in his throat.

The moment they were safely inside the clinic, Gaius locked the door and turned the sign to closed. Then he smacked Merlin about the head.

Merlin flinched impressively. He had never been hit before. "Ow!" he shouted.

"You stupid boy!" Gaius scolded. "Do you have any idea what Uther is planning? He thinks Balinor sent you to spy! He's going to declare war, you fool!"

Merlin blinked. "What?"

Gaius shook his head. "You know, I questioned the notion when Balinor decided to send you here alone, but now I _know_ we're in a mess. Go pack, Merlin, you're leaving as—."

"Wait!" Merlin cried. Gaius broke off and looked at him. The boy was afraid, his face a picture of raw emotion. "You… you can't tell Father. He doesn't—I mean, he's with the Anglicans, right now."

Gaius leered at him. "Doesn't what?" he demanded.

Merlin bit at his lip and shamefully averted his eyes.

Understanding flashed across Gaius like lightning. "He doesn't _know?_" he gasped.

"Please, Gaius, I just got here!" pleaded Merlin. "I didn't even get to go to school yet! Can't I… can't I just have a week—no, a month! One month. That's all I want."

Gaius scrutinized his charge, and finally he sighed. "Merlin, they know you're here," he murmured. "Uther is itching for war. Do you realize what a perfect mistake you've made?"

"I swear I'll fix it," Merlin promised.

Slowly, Gaius shook his head. His resolve was crumbling, however. He had never been good at being strict. "How do you expect me to stall Uther?" he said eventually.

Merlin nearly squealed. "So I can stay!?"

"Not if we can't stall Uther," Gaius snapped.

Merlin licked his lips, jumping as an idea came to him. "Ooh! Uther trusts you, yeah? You can convince him that the staff isn't mine, maybe! Or, or maybe, I can steal my staff back. He can't claim it was me without proof!"

Gaius looked at him. "Uther is not an idiot, Merlin. Though I'm starting to fear for the Druid nation."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but not even Gaius's sharp insult could bring him down. "Well, whatever, I'm trying, aren't I?" He clapped his hands. "Maybe you can distract him with other things! Like, y'know, Prince Arthur's schooling or something."

The old physician took a moment to scowl before shooing his ward away. "Go to bed," he ordered with a sigh. "I'll come up with something."


	2. Arthur

_From the _Encyclopedia of Druid_, fourth ed._

_Druids have fought the modernization of the world. Their magic is incompatible with most electronic devices, causing them to resent the advancements. _

**Chapter Two**

**Arthur**

Merlin woke up so brimming with excitement that magic was leaking out of his fingers. He overenthusiastically reached for the milk and the lid sprang off the carton. The salt shaker danced across the table with the drumming of his fingers. A slight wind kicked up in the kitchen while he hummed.

"Merlin, if you can't get this under control, you're not leaving this house," Gaius complained, throwing his hair out of his face for the third time.

"Gaius," Merlin trilled, having not heard him, "I'm going to college!"

Gaius shook his head and speared another pear slice on his fork.

"I mean, real school!" he went on. "With people! That I can talk to!" Merlin blinked with excitement. "Wow. I can't believe it!"

"Yes, well if you don't reign in your magic, you'll have a good deal of trouble on your hands," stated Gaius.

Merlin nodded. "Yes, yes, I know," he said uncaringly.

Gaius stared. "They'll kill you Merlin," he told him flatly.

"Yes, I know that, but—." Merlin broke off abruptly. A low voice he barely recognized had floated in on the wind. "Did you hear that?"

The old man gazed at him absently. "Hear what?"

_Merlin…_

"That," Merlin stated. He stood up. "Someone is calling me."

Gaius blinked. "You're really not convincing me to let you outside," he reminded him.

"Right! No, I'm fine, it was nothing." Merlin picked up his schoolbag (a real schoolbag! With books! And pencils, not quills or charcoal!) and raced to the door. "Bye see you later!" he called. And then he was gone.

Gaius looked as if he wanted to say something as the young warlock whisked out the door, but then changed his mind. "He'll figure it out," he decided, and he went back to his pear.

* * *

Merlin was thrilled to his very bones. He had memorized his class schedule the moment he had received one, from before he even left the Druids. His first class was at 9:30, Chemistry 101. He had heard chemistry was basically mortal magic, and he wanted to know exactly how they achieved it without being Earthborn.

He arrived early at the campus, which was good, since he got lost on his way to find his class and had to backtrack several times. When he found it, he was very nearly late, and earned a reproaching look from the professor.

Merlin slid into the first available seat he found and happily produced a notebook from his bag. He had practiced writing with pencil was ready to put his skills to the test.

The professor looked at his watch, scratched his nose, strolled over to the door, and closed it. Apparently this meant class was starting. Everyone became immediately attentive. "Good morning," the professor stated. He toddled back over to his desk and picked up a stack of papers. "William, pass these out." A boy at the front of the room took the stack and began handing them out. The professor turned to the white board and uncapped a marker. "For today's lab, we will be determining molecular weight by freezing point depression."

Merlin's hand froze over the paper. His mind went completely blank. What did he just say? He looked around at the other students: they all seemed to know exactly what was going on. As the professor continued explaining the procedure, Merlin began to feel uneasy. He was going to _fail._

He was so wrapped up in his own panic that he did not notice the person next to him vying for his attention. It wasn't until he was poked in the arm with the eraser end of a pencil that he realized them.

"Hey," she said. Merlin blinked. She smiled at him warmly. "You look lost."

Merlin stared. "Gwen?" he queried. He continued to gape. "What are you doing here?"

Gwen rolled her eyes playfully. "Chemistry," she replied. She chewed her lip nervously. "Do you want to be my partner?"

At Merlin's confused expression, she immediately sought to explain herself. "I mean, lab partner. For today. I mean, we could be partners longer than that, but, um, usually I work alone, and you seem like you need help. Not that you're helpless! I just, er, well…" She stopped when she realized Merlin was laughing.

"You're right," he told her. "I do need help. And I would be honored to be your partner."

* * *

Gwen did all the work. Merlin wished he could have helped more, but he really had no clue what he was doing. He asked Gwen to explain everything aloud as she went, which she did patiently. He sat at the lab table and took studious notes, and the two made plans to write the report together when Gwen got off work.

"So you work for the Lady Morgana?" Merlin inquired.

The maiden nodded, her hands carefully adjusting the beakers as was necessary. "My father was a poor man," she began. "He had a small shop, and he mostly did repairs on antique weapons, guns and swords and the like. And Morgana is a very compassionate being. She saw our struggle one day, when she happened to wander in, and pleaded with Uther to let my father work in the palace." Gwen smiled. "My father is now in charge of all the antique weaponry, and the lady took me on as a handmaiden. We've been best friends ever since."

"She's allowed outside the palace?" exclaimed Merlin. "Alone?"

Gwen shrugged walked around to other side of the table and continued working. "Well, the people love her. And Prince Arthur. Usually only a knight or two will escort her. But," her voice dropped a few notes, "I suspect that after what's happened, their protection will be stricter."

Merlin leaned in closer. "What's happened?"

The girl bit her lip uncertainly. "I'm not supposed to say. I'm not even supposed to know!"

"Oh go on," Merlin encouraged. "Who am I going to tell?"

Gwen seemed to consider this, then leaned down to his level. "Um, well, you see, we're not entirely sure yet, but, er, His Majesty was out hunting a week ago, and they found a," her murmur became a whisper, "wizard staff."

Merlin's stomach turned to ice. The wound on his shoulder panged angrily. "They did?" he questioned hesitantly.

She nodded urgently. "And they think it belongs to the Druid prince."

For a moment, Merlin's panic prevented him from replying. But then he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "How'd they figure that?"

Gwen simply shrugged. "I don't know. I took a class on Druids last semester, and I know that staffs are gifts from nature. Not many warlocks have them. So, I mean, they can't be sure, but I guess there aren't many warlocks to choose from."

Merlin nodded. It was true. Only a few warlocks—natural born wizards—had a hope of receiving a staff. Sorcerers—those who learned the trade—never had staffs. Staffs were presented by the priestesses, after apparently being specially made by faeries and angels (both of which have never been proven to exist) (also do not confuse angels with Anglicans) (or faeries with pixies. Pixies exist and no one likes them). Every wizard presented with a staff had been recorded in the citadel and was public for all to see. Including the mortals.

"Class dismissed," the professor called.

Students instantly began packing up their things. A few had not yet finished with the experiment and made no move to leave. Gwen quietly put things away, and Merlin folded his notebook back in his bag. "So, when is your last class?" she inquired.

Merlin blinked. The change in conversation surprised him. "Um, at one," he remembered.

"Then I'll come to the clinic at two," Gwen replied. "We'll write our report then. Where are you off to now?"

"French."

"Do you know where it is?" At his silence, she giggled. "I'll walk you there, hm? I have a break now anyways."

Merlin smiled and realized how much he liked Gwen. She was very pretty. Not completely out of his league like the Lady Morgana. And she was the fist girl ever to speak to him as a friend. Maybe something could come of this. Merlin looked her up and down and judged she would make a fine queen.

He shook his head. _Don't think about that,_ he snapped inwardly. _That's creepy._

"Right," Gwen declared, stopping. Merlin had hardly realized they'd moved. "Here you are. See you at two!" she said, and she strolled away.

Merlin wandered into the classroom to find most of the seats already occupied. He nabbed the nearest one and immediately missed Gwen.

"Hey."

Merlin looked around. The man next to him grinned. "You new?"

"Yeah," Merlin responded. He smiled a little. The people here were very friendly. "I'm Merlin."

"Gwaine," the man introduced. He jerked a thumb to the man on his left. "That's Percival."

Merlin nodded. "Nice to meet you." He glanced at Gwaine. "Nice hair," he noted.

"Shove off, mate, the ladies love it," Gwaine retorted.

"I believe it," Merlin said. He had just watched four different girls smile at Gwaine, though he did not see them.

"Do you play football?" asked Gwaine.

"Football?" Merlin had never heard of it.

Gwaine and Percival chortled. "Never mind then."

At that moment, the professor came rushing in. He looked flustered, dragging a coat and a messenger bag. "Sorry I'm late, class," he said. "I was called in on short notice." He dropped his things on the desk and grinned. "Good morning. I'm Lancelot du Lac. Mr. du Lac. Professor Waters had a family emergency, so I'll be your substitute." He smiled.

Merlin smiled back, but no one else did.

Lancelot's smile became a grimace. "Right then."

The class passed quickly. Lancelot fell into the routine easily, and soon won over the students. But Merlin was already fluent in French. The Druid prince had to be very cultured. Merlin currently spoke English, French, and Russian, and he was in the process of learning Chinese. Just like mortals, Druids came from all over. The nation did not have one official language, and seemed to divide into provinces based on country of origin. So Merlin had to learn all the languages. And he rather enjoyed it.

The hour was up before he knew it. Suddenly chairs were scraping on the hard floor and people were flooding out. Gwaine knocked on Merlin's desk. "See you later, mate," he said, and he strolled out with Percival.

"How was my first day?" Lancelot asked. Merlin jumped and realized he was the only person in the room besides the professor. "Did I do all right?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's my first day too," he confessed. He strolled over to the desk.

Lancelot smiled. "Must be very nerve-racking," he mentioned.

"A little, yeah." Merlin pursed his lips. "I've actually been, er, home-schooled my whole life. So it's nice to meet people." He glanced at Lancelot's many papers and frowned. "How long have you been a teacher?" he wondered, dragging a paper over to him.

Lancelot snatched it back. "Not long," he answered shortly.

But Merlin had seen it. It was a rejection letter, stating he did not meet the proper requirements for a teaching position. "I see," Merlin stated. He was hit with a wave of compassion for this man. "So I hear that to teach here, you need to be a noble," he said.

It was true. PendragonUniversity was extremely selective. Uther only let those he deemed of worthy blood teach within its walls.

Lancelot chewed on his bottom lip. "Yes, that's what I've heard," he said with a forced laugh.

Merlin smirked. He drummed his fingers on the table as made his exit. "I won't say anything," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Merlin was walking home around one, after his third and final class of the day (a western history class that focused on the mortal side of things), when he strolled by a field. He had passed the same field on his way to the campus, except that now, in the warm afternoon air, a group of men were running around.

"Hey, Merlin!" someone called.

Merlin jumped at being recognized. Oh god. How did they know?

But the face that came panting up to him was one he knew and he smiled. "Hi Gwaine," he greeted.

Gwaine grinned like an idiot. "What are you up to?"

"Going home," Merlin stated.

"Gwaine, who's that?"

Merlin looked up, and who should be jogging over besides pretty boy from yesterday at the citadel? Merlin rolled his eyes.

"This is Merlin," Gwaine introduced.

The man looked at him. "Oh, I know you," he remarked, grinning cockily. "You're that servant boy from yesterday."

Merlin gaped. What the hell was this tone? Who did pretty boy think he was? "I'm not a servant," he snapped.

"You look like someone I'd kick around for fun," the man commented.

Stupidly, Merlin stuck out his chin. "I'd like to see you try," he challenged. _I'll turn your insides out without lifting a finger you cocky little prat. _

The man stepped back, arms wide. "Go ahead," he coaxed. "Go for it."

Merlin had never hit anyone before. He was eager to try it out. Before Gwaine could warn him, Merlin had swung, and suddenly his arm was being twisted painfully behind his back and he could feel the man's hot breath in his ear. "That's treason, you know, raising your hand against me."

Despite all his pain, Merlin spat out, "And who do you think you are? The king?"

"Close," the man murmured. "I'm his son." He let Merlin go.

Realization came crashing down on Merlin. It all made sense now. This was Prince Arthur. And Merlin had just made him his mortal enemy.

"Be nice, princess," Gwaine scolded. "Merlin's harmless."

"He doesn't seem to think so," Arthur remarked.

Merlin cocked his head. "You know, being prince doesn't mean you can be a prat."

Gwaine whistled at the insult. Arthur glared. "I think," he began carefully, "that—."

"You do?" Merlin interrupted. "Could've fooled me."

The mortal prince bristled. Merlin smirked. He was enjoying this too much.

"Merlin!"

All three of them turned to see Gwen walking up the sidewalk. She gave a friendly wave. "Guinevere!" Arthur exclaimed. Merlin glanced over to see the prince straightening up and smoothing down his hair.

"Hello," she greeted happily, coming to stand beside Merlin. Then she looked over. "Oh, sire." She bowed.

Arthur nodded. "Good afternoon, Guinevere," he said.

Gwen turned back to Merlin, not quite ignoring Arthur but certainly not giving him her full attention. "Shall we go write our report now?" she queried.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Merlin said.

The girl gave him the prettiest smile that Merlin _knew_ made Arthur rife with jealousy. She reached in her bag and turned to Gwaine. "Gwaine, would you give this to Elyan?" She held out a key. "He forgot his again."

"Sure thing," Gwaine agreed.

Gwen smiled her thanks. "Bye now!" She waved, then remembered Arthur. She curtsied a little. "Sire."

"Guinevere," Arthur said, for the sake of saying _something _to her.

Merlin and Gwen strolled away, Merlin grinning like an idiot. Gwen looked up at him. "What are you so happy about?" she wondered.

"Oh, you know," Merlin replied airily. "Life." And it was true. His life was pretty fantastic right now.

* * *

"So how is working for the Lady Morgana?" Merlin inquired.

"Oh, she's wonderful," Gwen informed him as she scribbled in her notebook. She picked up a paper and handed it to him. "These are our recordings for the second test. Put the two in a table and compare them, okay?"

Merlin did as she instructed. He was using a ruler to make his lines extra straight because he thought they needed to be. "But you hardly have any time off," he pointed out.

Gwen shrugged. "Well, I live at the palace now because it's just easier. My father and Elyan still live off the grounds, and I can visit them whenever I like. I've just been working more lately because my lady has been ill."

"Ill?" Merlin repeated. He frowned at his crooked line and erased it. He was quickly falling in love with the eraser, something that did not exist back home. "Ill how?"

"…I shouldn't say."

Merlin just gave her a _look_ that he had perfected over the past few hours, and now it was sure to get Gwen to spill her guts.

Gwen bit her lip. "Well, Morgana has terrible, terrible nightmares."

"Nightmares?" he repeated. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"Yes," Gwen confirmed. "They wake her often, and she gets dreadful headaches. And I'm afraid sometimes, they frighten her a little too much."

"Mm, how's that?" Merlin asked. He scowled at the numbers.

Gwen grimaced. "Well, I'm not sure why, but, um, sometimes she gets so scared that she won't leave her room."

Suddenly the door to Merlin's tiny bedroom burst open, making Merlin and Gwen jump, and in stormed Gaius. "Merlin!" he cried, and there was some relief on his face.

"What?" Merlin asked. Was he not supposed to have girls over? Was that a rule?

Gaius straightened up and looked less angry. "I just thought I'd let you know that there is a rogue sorceress on the loose." He peered at Merlin. "Here. In Camelot."

Merlin blinked owlishly. "Okay…" he said uncertainly.

Gwen reacted better. She gasped and covered her mouth fearfully. "A sorceress? Here? In Camelot?"

Gaius nodded. "She wants revenge on Uther for taking her son in one of his hunts."

The maiden was on her feet, gathering her things. "I need to get to the palace. My lady's life could be in danger!"

"Merlin, escort her," Gaius ordered.

Merlin nodded and jumped up, understanding the situation now. He took Gwen's hand and they hurried out of the clinic. He was on high alert. If anyone jumped out to attack Gwen, he would take them down with just a look.

To Merlin's surprise, the streets were empty. It was the middle of the afternoon. Where was everyone…?

"Oi, you there!" someone shouted. Gwen jumped and froze. Merlin prepared to attack.

A man with a bright red cape came up to them, the red material flapping out behind him. At first Merlin thought the outfit was silly, but then he felt the dark waves of energy from it and cringed. The fabric was anti-magic. Of course.

"Sir Valiant, it's me!" Gwen exclaimed, looking relieved.

The knight scowled, but took his hand off his gun. Merlin eyed the weapon nervously. "The king has ordered a lockdown. You two need to get indoors immediately."

"Merlin is escorting me to the palace," Gwen told him. "My lady needs me."

Valiant's face went from one of duty to a look of empathy. "Then let me take you myself," he offered.

Merlin wanted to refuse. The cape made him feel nauseas and his shoulder throbbed with the memory of it. But Gwen nodded and he had no choice but to follow along.

It felt like it took an eternity to reach the palace. The only other souls in the streets were other caped man, and Merlin could feel the anti-magic from all of them. It gave him the worst of headaches.

"Sire!" Valiant called.

King Uther himself was standing on the stairs of his castle. He had a sword at his waist and a gun in his hand. "Who is with you?" he called, lifting the gun.

"Maid Guinevere and Gaius's ward," the knight replied.

Uther nodded. "Go in," he ordered.

Merlin and Gwen trotted up the stairs past him.

"Wait."

Merlin's heart stopped. He heard the mortal king ascend a few steps and come to a stop at his side. "What happened to your arm, boy?" he asked in a low voice.

The injury screamed in response to Uther, sensing his gun and his sword. Merlin tried to hide his wince and grabbed at the wound. It felt hot beneath the bandages.

"Swimming," Merlin gasped out. "I was, uh, swimming and I tore a ligament."

In his mind, he was praying, _Please let there be ligaments in my shoulder please let that be a real thing._

For a tense moment, Uther scrutinized him. Then he nodded. "On your way. Do not leave this palace until I declare it clear, understand?"

Merlin and Gwen nodded insistently. Merlin just wanted to get away.

"Father," Arthur called, appearing at the top of the stairs, "The north and east entrances are covered."

"Good, thank you, Arthur," Uther said. He pointed at Gwen. "Now take the maiden to Morgana and stay inside."

Arthur blinked. "Father, I—," he protested, but was cut off.

"Now, Arthur!"

The prince bowed rigidly and waited for Merlin and Gwen to catch up. He noted their hands with pursed lips and said nothing.

Gwen dropped Merlin's hand instantly.

"Follow me," he stated.

Arthur led them to Morgana's chamber. Gwen knocked politely but urgently, adding, "Morgana?" to hasten a reply.

"Come in, Gwen," was the weak reply.

Gwen pushed inside and disappeared. The door closed, and Merlin was left standing there awkwardly with Arthur. The prince looked at him coldly. "We will stand guard here," he snapped.

Merlin did not argue.

The castle was unbearably quiet. If there was anything exciting going on, it was elsewhere.

"So." Arthur's voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "You're a friend of Guinevere's?"

Merlin pursed his lips. "Yep," he replied.

"…Just a friend?"

_Is he… jealous?_ Merlin wondered. "Yes, just a friend," he assured him. He looked at Arthur, almost missing the prince's relieved expression, and realized he did not feel woozy. "Do you… not have anything anti-magic on?" he questioned. The prince was in street clothes, save for the sword at his waist.

Arthur glanced at him. "If the sorceress finds me, I want it to be a fair fight," he proclaimed grandly.

Merlin frowned. "Don't be so arrogant," he cautioned.

"Please," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "The Witch Collins is not someone I am afraid of."

"What?" Merlin exclaimed. "The Witch Collins? _Here?_"

"You've heard of her, then?"

"Heard of her!" Merlin was astounded. The Witch Collins was an average magician at best, but she was a scoundrel amongst Druids and certainly one mortals should fear. Her son, he had heard, had been on his way to becoming one of the most powerful rogues in the East.

Apparently Merlin was silent for too long, because Arthur changed the subject. "So what sort of a name is Merlin, anyways? It sounds Anglican."

"I've no idea," Merlin replied, his mind still stuck on the Witch Collins. "If you ever meet my mother, ask her." The sunlight pouring through the window abruptly darkened, as if some thick cloud had obscured it.

"That's right, you're living with Gaius," Arthur remembered. "So—."

"Do you hear that?" interrupted Merlin. He blinked and strained his ears, listening hard.

Arthur yawned. "No, I—actually, yeah, I do hear something." His eyes drooped happily. "What is that? It's beautiful."

Merlin looked to his left and saw the electric light on the wall flicker and go out. A wind pushed through the open windows, ruffling Merlin's hair. He could hear a woman singing, and it was growing stronger. He felt the air become clearer as magic took it over. Realizing what was happening, Merlin covered his ear.

"Prince Arthur, cover your—!" He looked over to see Arthur slumping against the wall, on the floor, sound asleep.

Merlin gaped, his heart thudding in his chest. What was he to do? The singing was very close now. Should he hide? But where? And what if Arthur needed protecting?

The door at the end of the corridor burst open, and Merlin dropped to the ground, feigning sleep. He tried to quiet his panicked heart, but to no avail.

Gentle, purposeful footsteps made their way across the carpeted floor. Merlin began reviewing spells in his head.

"You took my son from me," he heard the witch hiss, "I will take yours from you." Then her voice dropped, and she spoke familiar words. An incantation.

Merlin sat up fast and pushed with his hands. His eyes glowed gold and the Witch Collins was thrown back into the wall. She screamed and the lights came back on when her head cracked against the stone. Arthur stirred. Merlin jumped to his feet.

The witch was stunned. Merlin stared at her, uncertain of what she would do. Then there was a shout from outside, and the sound of men charging through the castle. The knights were coming for her.

Panicked, the witch scrambled to her feet. She was old and gray and ugly, draped in mottled robes the color of dirt and despair. Her eyes were blue and crazed, perhaps on the verge of blindness. She pulled her cracked lips back over her yellow teeth and hissed furiously. Through the open door Uther and the knights appeared, and they pulled out their guns.

In an instant the witch had produced a knife from her robes and hurled it with deadly accuracy at the prince.

Had anyone else been standing beside the waking Arthur, the prince would have died.

But Merlin saw the weapon, and his magic worked on its own. His eyes went golden and time slowed without his saying so. He reached down and gripped the mortal prince tight around the arm, and pulled with a furious grunt. Arthur was yanked up and out of harm's way.

Suddenly everything was normal again. Merlin gasped at what had just happened. The witch squinted at him. "Sor—," she almost said, but there was a gunshot, and her head exploded to the right, and she fell like a plank to the castle floor.

Merlin stared at her corpse with wide eyes. The blood. Magic blood. It had a sheen like oil in the sunlight now showing through the windows. Merlin felt dizzyingly ill. He dropped to his knees and took several shuddering breaths. The hole in his shoulder panged, but it seemed infinitesimal now. Had Uther aimed just a little higher that night, Merlin would be the same as this witch, with glowing blood pooling out the back of his head—

A hand on his shoulder woke Merlin from his panic with a start. It was Arthur, not looking at the body, not at all. Instead, he was staring at Merlin with utter bewilderment in his blue eyes. "You… you just saved my life," he stated, as if he could not believe it.

Merlin swallowed back his vomit and met Arthur's eyes. It was easier than looking at the body.

Uther abruptly gripped both their shoulders and hoisted them to their feet. Merlin kept his focus on Arthur. He could not look at the dead witch another second. "You did!" Uther exclaimed. "You've saved my son! You brilliant boy, I must reward you!"

Somehow, Merlin found his voice. It came out strangled and shaky, but it was speaking nonetheless. "No, your majesty, I couldn't—."

"I insist!" cried the king. "You… you will be Arthur's personal servant!"

"What?" Arthur and Merlin said together, the former more aware than the latter.

"Yes!"

Arthur stared. "Father, if the public finds out you rewarded a hero with servitude, we'll have a rebellion."

Uther considered this. He glanced at his knights, and they nodded their agreement. He pursed his lips. "Fine then," he conceded. He looked at Merlin. "What would you like as your reward?"

Merlin blinked. "Um," he said, no longer fearful of throwing up, "uh…"

"I've got it!" Uther nearly shouted, making them jump. "You, boy, will take on the honored position of being Prince Arthur's personal _assistant!_" He nodded. "See, not servitude. Excellent. You start tomorrow."

"What?" snapped Arthur.

"What?" Merlin said, slightly dazed.

"Leon, see that this gets cleaned up before Morgana can see it," Uther ordered, walking away.

Leon nodded and put his gun away. "You two," he instructed, forgetting Merlin and Arthur were there as he pointed at two knights, "remove the body. You, call the janitors to clean up."

"Yes sir," they said obediently, and got to work.

Merlin blinked at the seething Arthur. "I'm you… personal assistant now?" he managed.

Arthur shook his head. "Damn him."


	3. Dragon

_From_ Mortal Humanity

_During the Second Great Purge, King Jacob claimed to have captured the Great Dragon. The Druids never confirmed this, although the beast was written down as lost. It is unknown if Jacob ever even had the dragon in captivity, but he swore it until his death._

**Chapter Three**

**Dragon**

Merlin was very unhappy. For the past three days he had been following Arthur around like a puppy on a choke chain, being tugged this way and that, fetching coffee, retrieving homework, and the like. He did not hate the work, per se, more the person.

Arthur was very, very pompous. He was quick to forget their friendly conversation outside Morgana's room and thoroughly enjoyed bossing Merlin around. Merlin could not hold back his snark. He kept retorting with a biting sarcasm that made Arthur look at Merlin like he wanted to box his ears. It was going to get him in serious trouble soon.

There were two upsides to constantly being at Arthur's side. One was the food. Even though he was technically below the royal family, Merlin got to dine on exquisite mortal cuisine (much more refined than Druid food). He would get fat at this rate.

The second was how often Merlin saw the Lady Morgana.

Merlin had a very big crush on her. He didn't call it that, of course. He had no knowledge of the street names for these feelings. He only had books to go off of, and from his novels he was fairly certain he was in love with her.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with these feelings.

Whenever he saw her, he smiled, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. She smiled at him often, and when she was not sick and confined to her room she was outside, in the sun, reading or playing cards with Gwen. Merlin wanted to join them, but Arthur was panic-stricken when it came to Gwen, so they went nowhere near them.

Meanwhile Merlin and Gwen became great friends. They happily worked through chemistry together and walked each other to class. Merlin loved her deeply. She was his first friend. He did not know it, but he would gladly have died for her.

It was on a Saturday that Merlin heard _it_ again.

He was walking over to the palace at about ten, wondering what he would have to do to entertain Arthur today, when he heard his name on the wind.

Merlin froze on the spot. Around him, the people of Camelot continued their lives. They had noticed nothing amiss.

_Merlin…_

Merlin's fist clenched and unclenched. "Who's there," he breathed.

_A friend. Come to me._

Merlin pursed his lips and shook his head. He continued towards the palace.

_Emrys!_ The voice was adamant, and suddenly Merlin was facing away from the palace as if a strong gust of wind had picked him up and placed him that way.

"What? Stop!" Merlin cried. A woman passing by gave him a strange look. He smiled.

Abruptly he was picked up again and pushed across the street. "No, stop, stop, Arthur will get mad!" he protested.

The wind did not take him too far. It deposited him in front of a set of stairs descending into the earth, blocked off with some shabby wooden boards and a DO NOT ENTER sign. The people of Camelot strolled by it without giving it a second glance.

_Come, Emrys, I must speak with you._

Merlin grimaced and looked around. "Make it quick," he muttered, and he ducked under the boards.

Darkness set quickly into this tunnel. Hesitantly Merlin lit a flame in his hand and descended the stone steps. The tunnel felt old, and manmade. Now that he was in it, he could feel something. It was both intoxicating and nauseating. He both wanted to find it and avoid it at all costs.

After awhile, the ground leveled. Merlin peered out. The same cracked stone floor made up this space, yellow-brown and old. It smelt of water and animal. He took a step out and kicked a stone, and the noise echoed infinitely. Glancing up, Merlin saw the cavern went from manmade structure to nature's carving. Stalactites hung menacingly from the endless ceiling, going up so high it ceased to be brown and became a dark blue.

Carefully, Merlin stepped out onto the floor. It was some sort of platform, and perhaps he had read about what this was but could not place it. A short ways ahead of him, the floor dropped off, and as he crept closer he could see what was making him so ill. Two bands of anti-magic metal ran through the floor, glinting in his palm light. They were woven together with more AM material and even began to look warped.

_Ah. Emrys._

There was a whooshing noise, and an almighty thunder as something landed heavily on the other side of the metal. It knocked Merlin off his feet and put out his flame.

For a horrifying moment Merlin was blind. "_F-forbaerne,_" he whispered, panicked.

The first thing he saw was the eyes.

"Whoa!" Merlin exclaimed, scrambling back.

"I have waited patiently for you, young warlock," the beast spoke, and its voice echoed around them, gravelly and deep and ancient. "Finally, Emrys has come."

Merlin blinked. Now he could see the creature in its entirety, and it did not ease his fear. A dragon—the biggest dragon he had ever seen. Every other dragon in the Druid Kingdom was the size of a small horse, at best. Barely big enough to ride.

Not this dragon.

The great beast bowed its head. "It is an honor to meet you, Emrys," the thing purred. "I am Kilgharragh."

Merlin stared. "'Kay," he agreed. Because who was he to argue with a dragon that massive?

"I have a message for you," the dragon continued, as if expecting his nonresponse.

Merlin pursed his lips. "But, um, I… already got my dragon call," he pointed out carefully.

"This is not a call to destiny," Kilgharragh informed him. "Though yours is one any man would be rich to know." The beast chuckled. "No. I bear a warning. I have carried it with me for years." It paused, as if wanting to relish this moment. Finally, it said, "_Lo, Emrys, the witch Fey cometh_."

For a long time there was silence. Then Merlin blinked. "That's all?"

"The Dragon Covenant does not allow me to speak more on your destiny," the dragon told him.

Merlin gawked at him. "Well what the hell am I supposed to do with that?" he exclaimed. "Is that a warning? A… a good thing? Honestly! That's the most useless thing I've ever heard!"

The dragon scowled. "I would suggest you not treat my words with such spite," it said bitingly.

"Okay, sure," Merlin said. He bowed, because he had heard you were supposed to do that with wild dragons, though he did so mockingly. "Thank you ever so much for your advice. Now, I'm leaving before Arthur gets me arrested." He turned on his heel and left.

"You will be back, Emrys!" the dragon called as he stomped back up the stairs.

* * *

"Merlin!" Arthur nearly shouted. Merlin did not flinch. "You are _late!_"

"I'm sorry, _sire,_" Merlin retorted.

Arthur shook his head and got right in Merlin's face. "Do you know that today we are meeting with the king of Mercia and I am expected to be there _with_ my servant and I cannot do that if my servant is _late._" He drew back.

Merlin pursed his lips. "I didn't want this job," he reminded him.

"Well, the fact is you have it, and if you refuse to take it seriously I can assure you that your life will be hell."

"I'll quit."

Arthur laughed. "And reject a favor of the king? No, you'll stay until I say you're done." His grin fell. "Now go and fetch my ceremonial sword from the armory."

Merlin hesitated, then bowed stiffly. "Yes sire," he said through gritted teeth, and he left the room.

* * *

_Damned prince,_ Merlin thought to himself. He cranked open the door to the armory and stepped inside. _Damned job. Damned city. Why did I leave home again?_ His eyes grew clouded as he remembered. Because he had been lonely. Because he knew no one besides his parents and a tutor. Because at home, he had nothing.

Oh sure, he was the prince of the Druids. But that was just a title. No one actually _knew_ him. According to tradition, he was to remain anonymous to the world until his coronation. He had never spoken to, well, _anyone._ Except for Lady Freya, years ago. It was lonesome and horrible and he had hated it.

Briefly he wondered if his father had noticed his absence.

Merlin found the sword and exited the armory. Absently he closed the door again and turned the corner.

Somehow Merlin found himself on the stone floor, staring up at the beamed ceiling with the noise of metal clattering filling his ears.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Blinking, Merlin sat up. A girl—very pretty, and Merlin was beginning to wonder if only pretty girls existed—was scooping up a brass bowl and a towel. She was dressed in servant's clothes, a plain shirt and pants, but the colors were wrong. Instead of red, she was clothed in powder blue.

Gingerly, she dabbed the towel on his shirt. Merlin realized vaguely that the contents of the bowl had spilled on him. "Really, I'm very sorry. I wasn't paying any attention. Do forgive me. Don't take this out on my master!"

Merlin stared at her. Her image was sharp and beautiful. He felt connected to her, somehow. "Um…" was all he could come up with.

The girl smiled. "I'm Cara," she introduced. Her lips were very red.

Waking up, Merlin picked himself up and inspected his red Camelot shirt. It was just water. "I'm Merlin," he replied, casting her a grin. "Are you a Mercian servant?" he inquired.

Cara nodded. "Yes, and you must be Camelotian." She giggled.

Merlin wasn't sure how to reply, so he nodded too.

Cara pressed her lips together and looked down shyly. "Well, I'd better get back to work," she stated. She picked up Arthur's blade and handed it to him. "Here's your sword."

Merlin took it. "Thanks."

With a final embarrassed grin, Cara walked away. She looked back at him and he watched her go, bewildered by what had just transpired.

By the time he got back to Arthur, the prince was pacing. "Took your time, did you?" he snapped, snatching the sword from Merlin. He looked at his shirt. "What happened to you?"

Merlin looked down at his shirt and remembered. "Oh, you know," he said. "Ran into someone."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I've only known you for a week and I swear you are klutzier than a tangled puppet." He sighed. "No time for you to change. Let's go."

Merlin sighed with exasperation and followed Arthur out, thinking about how he'd rather be with nice Cara than the mortal prince.

* * *

The meeting was endless. Merlin constantly had to stop himself yawning, and he had to stand behind Arthur, so no entertainment there. The only good thing was that he could see Cara. She smiled at him from across the room and he beamed back at her.

The Lady Morgana was not there. Apparently Uther did not involve her with politics, and she was too sickly at the moment to be present anyways. Merlin wished she was. Her beauty always made a room livelier.

After an awful lot of talking, Uther and Bayard of Mercia shook hands. Merlin wanted to collapse with relief. Arthur stood, and three goblets were brought forward on a sliver tray. This was traditional for mortal treaty signings. A cup was handed to Arthur, then to Uther, and the last to Bayard.

"A toast," Uther declared, smiling at his son, "to a new alliance between the two great mortal kingdoms…"

While Uther spoke, Merlin caught Cara's eye. The girl looked terrified. _Stop them,_ she mouthed.

Merlin frowned. _What?_

_Arthur,_ her lips formed. _Stop Arthur. _

_Why?_ Merlin demanded.

Cara put her lips together fearfully and drew her finger across her throat.

Merlin's eyes widened. He stepped forward in the middle of Uther's speech and yelled, "Stop!"

Fifty pairs of eyes turned to look at Merlin. Uther turned around slowly. "What?"

Swallowing, Merlin lifted a shaking hand. "Arthur's cup," he said. "It's poisoned."

A gasp ran through the crowd. Immediately Arthur lowered the goblet and Uther turned to Bayard with accusing eyes.

The Mercian king laughed heartily. "No it's not!" he exclaimed.

"Then drink it," Merlin snapped.

Hesitation flickered across Bayard's face. "Uther, you would do well to control your servants," he said testily.

Arthur gave Merlin a furious gaze.

Uther scowled. "Before I punish the boy," he began slowly, "perhaps we should test if his words have merit."

Bayard shrugged. "Fine, make the lad drink from the cup. I have not tampered with it." His gaze darkened. "If the boy lives, he is mine."

Arthur's jaw dropped. "N—."

"Fair," Uther replied, his eyes narrow. "And if he dies…" His eyes flashed. "We are at war."

Again, the two kings shook hands, though they were much tenser this time. With a jerk of his head, Uther beckoned Merlin forward.

Merlin's feet moved against his will. He looked for Cara and could not find her. What was he doing? If he died his whole country would be torn apart! They would be at war with Camelot! He was risking not only his life, but the lives of thousands of innocents. And for what? He didn't even _like_ the prince of Camelot.

His trembling fingers found the neck of the golden cup. Slowly he took it from Arthur without seeing anything but the cup. Everything else was blurry. He brought it to his mouth and looked down at the blood red liquid. This could kill him. It wasn't worth it. He could die.

He tipped the glass back and drank.

Merlin brought the cup away. The wine was bitter and went down like acid. He wiped at his lips shakily, his heart pounding in his chest.

Arthur was watching him, a look of panic on his face.

Then everything blurred. His stomach roiled and his throat closed. His head hit something—maybe the floor—and then everything went black.

* * *

Merlin was dreaming. He knew it, vaguely, and at the same time did not. He felt very heavy. In his dream he saw the dragon.

"Hello Emrys," it greeted pleasantly.

Merlin blinked. Everything felt smoky. His tongue was sandpaper. "What's going on?" he said thickly.

"You are dying," the dragon informed him. "A bit before your time, too."

Groaning, Merlin held his head. "Did I… did I drink the poison?" he asked.

"Mm," Kilgharragh mused. "So brave for one so small." It smiled a strange, animal smile. "And all ready to lay your head on the block for the mortal prince."

Merlin shrugged. "Well I don't want him to die," he grumbled.

"No, you don't." The dragon crouched low, so that its great head was level with Merlin. "You and Arthur are destined for great things together. Two halves of the same coin."

"What?" Merlin laughed.

The dragon turned its head. "Look," it instructed. Merlin looked. A blurry image of Arthur appeared, dangling from the side of a rock, dressed in jeans and sneakers with a gun and a sword slung over his back. "He is risking his life to get an antidote for you."

Merlin stared with wide eyes. "He's going to fall!" he exclaimed.

"Then help him, young warlock."

How was he to help if he was dreaming? Merlin wanted to ask. But he saw Arthur there, struggling, and the words simply came to him.

He spoke with confidence, quiet and sure of himself. His eyes flashed gold and a tiny ball of glowing white appeared by Arthur. The prince was startled by it, but seemed to understand it was good.

The vision dissipated.

Merlin whirled around to the dragon. "Is he all right?" he demanded. "Put it back, show me!"

Kilgharragh peered down at him. "Young warlock, I do not heed you. I am not bound by any ordinance to help you and yet I will. You would do well to show me some respect."

Merlin scowled but did not retort. "What happened?" he murmured. "With Bayard, I mean. Why was the cup poisoned?"

The dragon gave him a simpering look. "Beings of magic are all connected. We can feel the presence of our fellows." It cocked its head. "You seem to have confused yours with… another hormone."

Annoyed, Merlin rolled his eyes, but he thought back through the day nevertheless. Realization broke on his face and he felt betrayed. "Cara!" he cried.

The dragon gave a sigh. "Yes. _Cara._"

"Oh my God," Merlin breathed. "She's a sorceress! And I didn't see it! What is the matter with me?" He broke off, pondering. "But… if she wanted to kill Arthur, why warn me?"

With exasperation, the dragon laid its head on the ground. "I weep for the Druids," it said. "Emrys, if you can sense a being with as little power as this woman, what does that make you?"

Merlin bit his lip, finally understanding.

"She either thinks you a traitor to the Druids, or competition in her world." Kilgharragh blinked. "Your prince is returning. I shall not visit you in this way again. It wears me too much. You must come to me."

"But—," Merlin began, but suddenly he was being pulled up out of the fog of his dream. It was like surfacing from deep water. He broke into consciousness with a gasp and felt his body spasm painfully.

"Merlin!" Without warning someone was kissing him, and he opened his eyes. Gwen pulled back and straightened herself, blushing. She looked away from him, and tried to act like nothing happened, before twisting her skirt and murmuring, "Sorry."

"No, it's all right," Merlin gasped, shocked. "More than all right." He gave an idiotic grin. Gaius sighed and rolled his eyes. Merlin looked around. He was not in the clinic, but a wing of the castle. Perhaps the infirmary. "What happened?"

"You drank poison, you idiot, about ten hours ago" Gaius snapped. "A magical poison, which could only be cured by a ridiculous and very obscure flower, which Prince Arthur just risked _everything _to retrieve."

"I know that," Merlin said. Then he wished he hadn't.

Gwen peered at him curiously. Gaius's eyes bulged.

"I mean," Merlin stumbled, "who else would be stubborn enough to do that?"

This made Gwen laugh, and she bowed her head with embarrassment. "I'd better go see Morgana now," she admitted. She smiled. "She'll be glad to know you're awake." Quietly, Gwen left the room.

Gaius gaped at Merlin. "How did everyone in this castle become so infatuated with you?" he demanded.

Merlin shrugged. "Must be my charm."

"Yes, that's it. Can you stand?"

Unsure, Merlin lifted his head, only to find the movement made his vision swim. "No," he groaned.

"How fortunate," Gaius remarked. "Because if you could I'd have you cleaning every inch of my clinic."

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to calm his nausea. Really, this feeling of sickness was occurring too often for his liking. "Oh well."

Gaius shook his head, staring at his ward. "Why did you do it?" he inquired. He sat down beside Merlin's bed and peered at him. "Be honest now, why risk your life for Arthur?"

Merlin looked at his guardian, then at the ceiling. "Honestly, I don't know," he confessed. "Why would he do the same for me?" he wondered. He looked at Gaius. "You know it wasn't Bayard who poisoned him?"

The old man nodded. "Even if he had wanted to kill Arthur, he would never have been able to get his hands on a malady like that. I explained that to Uther, and he released Bayard." Gaius leaned forward. "You know Uther's conclusion, I assume?"

For a moment, Merlin was confused. Then it hit him like a battering ram. "He thinks it was me," he breathed.

Gaius said solemnly, "The king is howling for war."

Merlin sighed so that he did not scream. His shoulder ached, he could hardly move, and now he had started a war. All because he'd felt a little lonely. He was a damn fool.

"I've convinced Uther to seek further proof."

Merlin looked at him, relief shining in his eyes. "So we can save this?" he wondered hopefully.

Gaius grimaced. "He's sent out a summons to Balinor," he told him "He wants to speak with the Druid King."

"Damn," Merlin muttered. "He doesn't know I'm here."

"No, he doesn't, and he just might start a war if you're not careful." Gaius gave him a warning look. "We need to figure this out, _now,_ and as soon as your father leaves I'm sending you straight home."

Merlin wanted to protest, desperately, but he saw what was happening and knew it would be safest. "I want to stay," he mumbled, the face of Morgana coming to his mind.

Gaius looked away sadly, and Merlin knew he wanted him to stay too. "Get some rest," he told him.

* * *

**I fear this chapter went a little fast. If you have criticisms, I'd love to know. Thank you for reading!**


	4. Griffin

_Griffins are the pests of this earth. While dragons are more ferocious, griffins lack any sort of intelligence. They are carnivorous animals obsessed with feeding and do not sympathize with anything, even their own young. _

**Chapter Four**

**Griffin**

Two days ago Merlin had been poisoned. His body was recovering fast. Magically fast. Gaius spun some tale about the antidote and Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana ate it up. Uther did not care.

His first day back at class was interesting. Apparently he had missed some inanely important lecture notes for Chemistry and would have to get them from Gwen. Gwen, of course, was happy to provide.

She walked with him to his French class, like usual. And something very strange had taken place while Merlin had been gone.

"Hello, Lancelot," Gwen greeted. They had arrived early to French, and Gwen was lingering. She had not lingered two days ago. She gave the professor her prettiest smile and swayed a little bit.

Lancelot beamed at her. "Lovely to see you, Gwen," he said, and he looked genuine. "Are you liking the book I gave you?"

Gwen's eyes went wide. "Oh, it's amazing!" she cooed, leaning on his desk with obvious flirtation. "Honestly, I love it. I've been reading it to Morgana because she's been so sick, but I just couldn't wait and kind of finished the whole thing." She blushed.

Lancelot lit up. "What did you think of the ending?"

"Oh, the _ending,_" Gwen said, and her whole body said the word. "It was genius. And it made perfect sense! The whole thing is an allegory for Christianity."

"Yes, exactly!" Lancelot exclaimed. "Why does no one else see it? I've debated for hours with my professors over that book and they all claim it's embracing utilitarianism. But it's not!"

Merlin stood there stupidly, watching this exchange with utter confusion. He also watched their hands, which drew closer across the surface of the desk. And closer. They kept making _eyes_ at each other, and it was so obvious it made Merlin uncomfortable. He turned and sat down and opened up the first book he found in his bag. His chemistry book. Good. He needed to study this anyways.

The rest of the class filed in, and Lancelot looked at the clock. "Oh, god, I've got to start class." He smiled sheepishly.

Gwen blinked. "Whoops. I'm going to be late then. Bye!" She spun around and hurried from the room.

Lancelot watched her go.

Merlin looked about at his fellow students. All of them were staring at their professor, who was grinning idiotically after Merlin's best friend. Beside him, Gwaine let out a soft whistle. "Well those two are shagging more than a carpet, if you know what I mean," he chuckled. "Or at least, they want to be."

"Don't tell Arthur," Percival cautioned with genuine pity in his eyes. "It'd break his heart."

"And ruin our season," Gwaine added.

It took Lancelot a little bit to get over his embarrassment, but soon he was enthusiastically spewing French and writing different verb forms all over the white board. Merlin let his mind drift. He considered Lancelot and Gwen and decided that was fine. He did feel bad for Arthur, though. The poor sap had really no clue about courting women, and Merlin learned a lot of what not to do by watching the mortal prince.

Eventually, Merlin's thoughts went to Cara, the witch who had poisoned him. Was it possible she knew he real name? Who he was? He should ask the dragon. Kilgharragh seemed to possess infinite knowledge.

But he probably had to be with Arthur after class, now that he was well. The prince usually needed "help" training, which meant that Merlin was going to stand in front of the goal and be pummeled by footballs.

Perhaps he could take a detour and—

Merlin blinked. Every eye in the room was turned to him. He straightened up apologetically. "_Quoi?_"

Lancelot looked at him, and Merlin could see the disappointment in his gaze. Rapidly he repeated the question. Merlin answered it easily and then tried to be more attentive.

* * *

"Sorry," Merlin said after class, feeling guilty. "I was just… daydreaming."

Lancelot shrugged. "It's all right. Really, it's not an exciting class." He smiled good naturedly.

Merlin grinned back. "So, _Sir_ Lancelot, are you—?"

"Merlin!"

Both Lancelot and Merlin jumped. Prince Arthur strolled into the room, a book bag slung over his shoulder. It smacked against his leg as he walked. "What are you doing out?"

Merlin stared at him. "I'm… recovered, Arthur, I'm doing fine," he told him hesitantly.

"Recovered?" Lancelot inquired. "Were you ill?"

"Ill?" Arthur snorted. "He was on his deathbed. Get back to Gaius, this instant, else—."

"Gaius let me out," Merlin protested.

"What does he know? And did you just interrupt your prince?" Arthur scowled. Then he seemed to notice Lancelot. "Who are you?"

Lancelot blinked. "Lancelot du Lac. I'm a substitute for Professor Waters," he said routinely.

Arthur evaluated him, the anger leaving his eyes. "Are you?" he questioned softly.

The teacher swallowed and nodded.

"I don't remember your name on my father's roster," Arthur noted.

"Please, Arthur," Merlin interrupted. He could see that the prince was figuring it out and was determined to protect the teacher. "He's a good teacher. It's not his fault he's not—." He broke off and went silent.

For a moment, Arthur considered his words. He looked Lancelot up and down, glancing at the papers on his desk, before he finally looked at Merlin. "It's against the law," he said quietly.

"I understand," Lancelot stated. "I will leave."

"No!" Merlin argued. "Your birth should have nothing to do with your right to teach!"

"It's not just that, Merlin," Arthur said with a sigh. "My father is very particular about these things. He only lets nobles be knights, too. And often, would-be knights apply as teachers first." Arthur slowly lifted a piece of paper from Lancelot's desk. It was baby blue and thin, and Merlin could nearly see through it. "I can't just let this go by, Mr. du Lac."

"Of course," Lancelot replied. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled the paper from Arthur's fingers. "It was… just a boyhood dream, after all."

Merlin could not believe what he was seeing. In the Druid kingdom, mages were chosen based on their magical ability. There were nobles, and their blood usually ran better, but it was not a contributing factor. "Arthur," Merlin snapped, turning to face the prince, "he doesn't deserve this."

Arthur scowled. "I am not the king," he said firmly. "And until I am there is nothing I can do for him."

"Let him prove his worth."

"Merlin—," Lancelot tried.

"My father _won't care,_" Arthur nearly growled. Merlin set his jaw and did not retort. Arthur looked to Lancelot. "I don't want to ask you to leave."

Lancelot forced a smile. "I know," he said quietly. He reached under the desk and produced a filing briefcase. "I'll pack up."

Arthur nodded. "Let's go, Merlin," he ordered.

Merlin did not move. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Lancelot extended his hand. Merlin recognized this as a mortal custom and shook it. "I'll see you again, I'm sure." He winked, and Merlin managed to smile. Then he and Arthur left the classroom in silence.

Arthur kept glancing at Merlin as they walked. Merlin was determined not to look at him. "Ahem." Arthur cleared his throat. "So, um, you're doing better?"

"Yes," Merlin said shortly.

Unexpectedly Arthur clapped him hard on the back. "Then I look forward to training later. Cheerio." He smiled and strutted away.

Merlin stared after him with disbelief. How could anyone be so arrogant? _How?_

* * *

Merlin had to run so as not to be late to his history class. He skidded into the classroom just as the professor was getting to his feet and buttoning his jacket closed. He looked startled as Merlin entered, and blinked at him behind his glasses. "Won't you sit down, Merlin," he said eventually. "We're about to start."

Nodding, Merlin went for the seat that was generally his, only to find it occupied.

The Lady Morgana stared up at him owlishly, as if she could not believe his presence.

"Merlin." The professor teetered on his toes.

Immediately Merlin dropped into the seat next to Morgana. He tried not to look at her as he retrieved his notebook and pencil, and focused his gaze straight ahead while really his entire concentration was on the sound of her breathing beside him.

What was she doing here? She had not been in the class when Merlin started. Her illness? Probably. Which would mean that Merlin had taken _her_ seat, and not the other way around. But Merlin was happy to give up his seat to her. She was next to him, after all. What more could he ask for?

The entire hour Merlin was painfully aware of her every movement. Every scratch of her pencil, every tap of her index finger, every toss of her hair. He tried very hard not to look at her, but she seemed to be a magnet for his eyes. They kept drifting that way of their own accord.

The class ended and Merlin was no wiser on the subject of history. He did hear something about a test coming up, so he wrote down "study" in his notebook.

"Study?" Morgana noted, and Merlin jumped. The lady was leaning back in her chair, chewing absently at her pencil. She wore dark jeans and a forest green blouse, and her eyes seemed to shine.

Merlin had already forgotten what he wrote, and he had to check. "Yes, it's my to-do list," he stated matter-of-factly.

Morgana smirked. "Mine is the same, actually," she noted coyly. She leaned forward and took the pencil from her mouth, adding "w/ Morgana" to Merlin's list. "There."

Merlin's heart pounded like a horse's hooves. "But my lady," he began, "you didn't specify when." He straightened up, proud of his word choice.

The lady raised her eyebrows. "When would you like?"

"I'm bound to Arthur until seven."

"Then seven ten," Morgana decided. She smiled. "Come prepared." Then she stood up and picked up her bag in one fluid motion, and before Merlin could really register what just happened, she was gone.

* * *

Merlin had only spoken to four human beings before coming to Camelot: his mother, his father, his tutor, and Lady Freya Silverblood, because there had once been an idea to betroth the two that Hunith had vehemently opposed. Only his parents had seen him without his cloak. Merlin had not been allowed out of his room without his cloak, and really no one was allowed to speak to him if they saw him.

The only experience Merlin had with the outside world were books. Queen Hunith brought him dozens of books, and King Balinor was thrilled to let him read. So he read everything. And every social protocol he knew had been in the books he'd read.

Before going to Camelot, he had studied up on mortal social relationships so he would be prepared to interact with the people. He felt remarkably unprepared for a date with the Lady Morgana.

"Sire," Merlin began, then stopped, halfway through restacking targets. Today's training had been archery. _Archery._ It had quickly become Merlin's least favorite training.

Arthur pulled his archer's glove off and blinked. "What's the matter, Merlin?" he inquired. He put his foot on the bench to untie it.

Merlin hesitated. Asking the prince of Camelot about how to go on a date with his sister seemed like a very bad idea.

"How are—?" No. Don't ask about Gwen. Not after the whole Lancelot affair.

The prince looked at Merlin expectantly. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Merlin said. He put the targets up and turned around. "Will that be all, sire?"

Arthur frowned. "Something on your mind?" he asked teasingly. He strutted towards Merlin, and Merlin sought an explanation. Luckily, he didn't have to, for Arthur's eyes went wide and his grin fell. "Is it about Lancelot?" he murmured.

The subject of Lancelot had been nagging at the back of Merlin's mind the entire day. He latched onto this as his excuse. "A little," he admitted.

"Merlin, I really couldn't do anything," Arthur said gently. "Really, the best I could do was get him out of there before my father found out and had him imprisoned."

"Prince Arthur!" One of the knights, missing his suit jacket, appeared in the doorway of the weapons storage. "A griffin has been sighted circling the town."

Arthur straightened. "Clear the streets," he ordered. "Merlin, ready my bow." He marched back to his boots and put them back on rapidly.

Confused, Merlin grabbed the bow off its hook on the wall and slipped more arrows in the quiver by his feet. "A griffin, sire?" he questioned. "Here?"

"I think there's a flock nesting on the mountain," Arthur told him, grabbing his bow from Merlin, who followed him. "This is the third griffin we've seen in the last two weeks. The last one took a little boy." His expression was steely as he walked. "This one will pay for that." He glanced at the stables, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled.

The stallion came almost immediately, galloping hard across the grass. It was missing its saddle, and its reins flopped about in front of it. The horse came to a skidding stop beside its master and clopped its feet as it waited to be mounted.

Arthur jumped aboard fluidly, as if he had done this his whole life. "Quiver," he ordered, hand out. Merlin gave it to him, and he slung it over his back.

"Are… are you going alone?" Merlin said incredulously. "Bareback? On a horse?"

"Better aim than a car," Arthur stated. "And hunting griffin must be done alone. Give it only one target and its easier." He kicked his heels and the horse sprinted off.

Merlin gaped after him. He looked at the stables. He glanced back at Arthur's shrinking form. Suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

* * *

Getting a horse out of its stable was much harder than Merlin had expected. Mounting was nigh impossible, and since he didn't know how to saddle a horse he bounced along painfully as the animal ran at full gallop after Arthur. Merlin gripped the reins like a lifeline and spat mane out of his mouth.

Once again, the streets were eerily empty. He glimpsed eyes peering out of windows as he thundered down the cobblestone streets. Ominously, he heard a vicious shriek.

The griffin.

"Turn," Merlin said. He was hoping Arthur was in the square, the only place open enough for him to be properly exposed. "Turn!" He yanked at the reins, and to his immense surprise, the beast turned.

And screeched to a halt.

"Whoa horse!" someone shouted.

Merlin glanced around the head of his panting horse and could not believe his eyes. "Lancelot?" he cried.

The teacher was holding a suitcase, and wore a hat meant for travel. "Merlin?" he said in disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing?" Merlin snapped.

"Leaving. What the hell are you doing?"

"Saving the prince!"

Lancelot's face went from confusion to hope. He dropped his suitcase and appeared at Merlin's side. "Move over," he ordered. "I can ride a horse."

Merlin scooted back and Lancelot jumped up using a windowsill, landing in front of Merlin and grabbing hold of the reins. "All right," the French teacher said, and he sounded thrilled. "Hold onto me.

Obedient, Merlin put his arms around Lancelot's waist. The horse reared, taking him by surprise. Lancelot's hat flew off as the mare took off in a sprint, taking them to Arthur and perhaps their doom.

Above, Merlin could hear wings flapping. His heart pounded. Griffins were pests, known for picking off livestock with their treacherous claws. He did not want to meet those claws.

Lancelot egged the horse on, whipping the reins and making the animal whinny. As if in response, the griffin screamed.

They came barreling into the square, only to see Arthur riding in circles about the fountain, an arrow poised to shoot. Merlin looked up and there was the griffin.

It was bigger than he had imagined. Bigger than most dragons. Its body was gold, like a lion's, and its back legs pedaled uselessly in the air. Its head was the tawny brown of an eagle, feathered and beaked with beady birdlike eyes. And at its front were two sets of shining claws, more curling and menacing than dragon teeth. Arthur galloped underneath it, commanding his horse closer so he could shoot. Every time Arthur let loose an arrow, the beast let out a horrific screech. It was enough to make Merlin's ears bleed.

At that moment, Arthur happened to glance them. He did a double take and nearly fell off his horse. "Merlin!" he cried, shocked.

The griffin saw its chance and swooped down. A set of claws swung out, and caught Arthur across the arm. The prince let out a terrific cry of pain and was thrown to the ground, hard. The griffin screeched with victory and turned back sharply. It touched the ground and its claws pulled back. It hardly stopped moving. Its hind legs, useless in midair, pushed hard against the cobbled ground as it began its charge across the square.

Merlin's heart stopped. He tightened his grip around Lancelot. He barely heard the teacher urge the horse, hardly felt them propel forward. His gaze was on Arthur and Arthur alone. _I have to save him,_ he thought. _How can I save him? I have to—_

"_Ahredde hine,_" he breathed. The spell was like an inhale, turning his eyes gold for the briefest of instants.

The griffin-tripped. It squawked with surprise and careened over itself, tearing up cobblestones until it abruptly cracked its head on the fountain and went still. Merlin's horse reared in surprise and came to a halt.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Merlin slid off the horse and hobbled over to Arthur, panic in his eyes. "Arthur?" he said, kneeling by his side.

The prince groaned and tried to move. The griffin had only caught his shoulder, and the wound did not look too deep, although it bled profusely. His first thought was to heal it with magic, but did not. He couldn't, not in the middle of Camelot. Merlin grimaced and remembered the pain in his own shoulder, profusely bleeding and incurable by magic. _We match now,_ he thought bitterly as he pulled his shirt over his head and proceeded to tear it to strips to staunch the bleeding.

"You're all right, sire," Merlin assured him. "You'll wake up tomorrow as pratty as ever." He smiled.

"Merlin."

Merlin froze. He had forgotten Lancelot. Hesitantly, he turned around. "Yeah?" he said uncertainly.

Lancelot gazed at him hard. "I heard what you said," he told him quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Merlin answered immediately, his eyes becoming fierce.

Lancelot's mouth opened, but the words died in his throat. He paused. "I won't tell," Lancelot said eventually. Merlin's defensive expression softened. "Not a soul."

Merlin did not know what to say. He looked at him for a long time. "Thank you, Lancelot," he said finally, and he meant it. He smiled. "Let's get the prince to Gaius."

* * *

**My sincerest apologies for the tardiness of this chapter. I'm in the process of leaving for college and it's very stressful. **


	5. Panic Rising

_A dragon call is a Druid's call to destiny. Every Druid, at some point in their life, is spoken to by a dragon, which then informs them something of their future. This is a rite of passage for all Druids, much like how mortal nobles used to have quests. It is considered sacred and something many Druids gloat about once it has passed. _

**Chapter Five**

**Panic Rising**

A man slouched in his study, dressed in tan trousers and a loose white shirt. His black hair brushed his shoulders and bore streaks of silver. Tired brown eyes looked reluctantly at the letter held feebly between his fingers. He read it for the third time, and finally he sighed. "Send the queen in," he ordered.

The servant standing in front of his desk bowed and walked out. The man set the letter on his desk and ran a hand through his hair.

It was a few minutes before the Druid queen strode in, clad in a light dress with her hair tied back. Her face held the beginnings of age, but she smiled radiantly nonetheless. "You wanted me, dear?" she said, calmly.

King Balinor picked up the letter and waved it at her. "Is this true?" he demanded. "Is it?"

Hunith shrugged. "I can't tell you if I don't know what it is," she said simply.

Balinor snapped the paper to straighten it. He read, "'To King Balinor of the Druids from King Uther of Camelot. Our nations are not peaceful. The act of Prince Emrys crossing the border is a declaration of war. If you do not agree to meet by the end of the month we will launch an attack.'" He threw the letter on the desk. "Where is Merlin?"

"He is safe," she told him.

"_Where?_"

Hunith straightened up. She was not one to be pushed around by her husband. "With my uncle, Gaius. It was all prearranged. Merlin received his dragon call and had to go to Camelot. I provided him with protection and cover."

"And now he has started a war!" Balinor shouted, getting to his feet.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Finally, Hunith pursed her lips into a thin line and said, "I may not be of magic, Balinor, but I do understand the meaning of a dragon call. Merlin was told to go to Camelot, and he could not have done it alone."

Balinor sighed, regretting his outburst. "Why didn't he tell me?" he murmured. "I would have helped." He grimaced as he sat back down. "Well, maybe I would have."

"He's lonely, Balinor," Hunith told him sincerely. "I never wanted my son to live like that."

Again, there was silence. Balinor rested his head on his hand. "I have to go get him," he said quietly.

"What if he's happy there?" asked Hunith, coming to kneel by her husband's chair. "What if he doesn't want to leave?"

Balinor did not blink. "He has to come home, or thousands will die."

"Don't be so cryptic," she criticized, and he glanced up at her. "You're a smart man. I'm sure you'll find a way to keep him there." She shrugged. "And he's a smart boy. Perhaps he already has a plan." She kissed her husband on the cheek and left the study.

Balinor sighed and decided to follow his wife. He glimpsed his servant in the hall and beckoned him. "Send a message to Camelot, urgent," he commanded. "Tell Uther I'm leaving tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

"Are you?" the servant queried, taking notes on a pad of paper produced from his pocket.

"God no," Balinor laughed. "I want to put off this meeting as long as I can. No, we'll leave after lunch, maybe."

"Do you want dragons or horses?" The servant glanced up.

Balinor thought for a moment. "Horses. We're not going to war. We must appear peaceful." He patted his servant's shoulder. "Make lunch something good tomorrow, eh?"

"Yes sire," the servant agreed with a small bow. Balinor smiled, and he walked off.

* * *

Merlin was exhausted, but it didn't matter what happened-the history test was still on. So at ten at night, after Arthur had finally fallen asleep, Merlin had crawled away to Morgana's chambers. They were currently sprawled out on the floor, with books and notes in front of them. So not much of a date, he supposed. But he certainly liked Morgana's room. Somehow the air felt fresher than the air outside.

"I'm never going to get this America stuff," Merlin complained. He let the paper float back to the rug and frowned at his copy of _Mortal Humanity_. "It's too much to remember."

"If you just remember that they never lose," Morgana said idly, "you should be good."

Merlin sighed and gazed up at the ceiling from where he lay on the floor. His eyes wandered and he saw the little orange bottles on Morgana's bedside table. "So what is your medication for, anyways?" he asked with yawn.

Morgana glanced at the bottles and tiredly dropped the paper she had been scrutinizing. "I, um… I get really bad headaches," she explained, closing her eyes. "And nightmares." She picked herself up off the floor and retrieved the bottles, sitting down closer to him and showing them to him one at a time. "See, this one is because I have headaches, but they make me nauseous. So these," she said, picking up the next, "are for the nausea. But _those_ pills make me sleepy. So then I have these ones that keep me awake through the day." She set those three down and picked up a fourth bottle. "These ones are for my nightmares. It used to be a serum, but that taste was so awful that Gaius replaced it."

"Nightmares?" Merlin repeated, taking the bottle from her. "I've never heard of nightmares that bad."

"Gaius calls them 'night terrors'," she told him. "It's a sleep disorder. Bit different from nightmares. I don't usually remember them."

Merlin read the small print on the container with interest. "Does this one have unpleasant side effects?"

Morgana shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it makes food less appealing. It doesn't always work though," she stated. "I still get pretty terrible ones." She rubbed her head as if remembering one. "I wish they would go away." Abruptly she took the bottle from his fingers. "Anyway," she said, "that's what the pills are."

"That must be terrible," Merlin told her.

Again, the lady shrugged. "I've lived with it long enough."

Merlin propped himself up on his elbow. "So, I have to ask, if you're Arthur's sister, why aren't you a princess?"

She fell silent.

Merlin suddenly realized this was a bad subject. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, I—."

"No, it's fine," she assured him. She sat down with him again. "My mother wasn't the queen," she informed him carefully. "She was someone Uther met before he married his queen. By the time Queen Igraine was pregnant I had been born, and was delivered to Uther." Sensing the awkwardness caused by her story, Morgana jumped to another subject. "So what about you?" she inquired, beaming. "Tell me about your background."

Merlin found himself grimacing. "You sure you don't want to study?" he tried, sensing danger.

Morgana rolled her eyes at him. "Merlin I cannot recall anything I've looked at for the last half hour. Now do tell me about your life. Country boy, yeah?"

"Yeah," Merlin agreed quickly, trying to remember the story he had set up for himself. "Ealdor. Just outside Camelot's borders."

"Never heard of it," Morgana told him cheerily.

Merlin's tension broke into relief. He didn't have to worry about his facts so much. "You wouldn't have," he told her with a smile. "We're rather small."

"Oh, wait, I have." She paused. "Wasn't the Druid queen born there?" Morgana stated.

For a moment, Merlin started to sweat, until he realized this must be common knowledge. So using the same town his mother was from had been a bad idea, it looked. "Yes. Most acknowledgment we've ever gotten."

Morgana nodded. "Gwen tells me you're a swimmer?" She inclined her head. "Tore a ligament in your shoulder?"

Merlin's hand flew self-consciously to the wound on his shoulder. It was healing tremendously slowly. "Yeah," was all he could answer with.

"You know our school has a swim team."

Uh oh. "No, I'm done swimming," Merlin told her. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and did not fake the grimace of pain that flashed across his face. "This is the last in a long line of injuries. It's not worth it."

"Oh," she said. "Shame. We need more swimmers."

Merlin realized his mistake and swallowed. "So you're on the swim team?"

"Not as much as I'd like to be," she told him.

Back in the Druid kingdom, Merlin had been cut off from most of life, but he still knew what went on. Druids had sports. His own father enjoyed a variation of Frisbee and rugby that involved magical alterations to the field. Merlin had never been allowed to play. Once, when his father was not around he snuck into the ranks and played, and been beaten so badly he could not lift his hood for weeks, lest his father see.

Only recently had Druids been allowed in the Olympics, under the pretense that no magic was used. The athletes had to wear AM uniforms to prevent any magical cheating. However, the outfits wore them down physically as well, and despite Druid protests about fairness the rule stayed.

"I was never all that interested in swimming," he told her, like it was some big confession. "But I had friends who were. I'm sorry."

Morgana shrugged again. "I can start again next week. Gaius said to take it easy, though." She smirked. "I won't though. Can't let my team down."

Merlin cocked his head. "You're very like Arthur," he noted.

"People say that," she agreed, "but I don't see it."

"Well, you're much prettier," he informed her. He blushed at his own boldness.

Morgana giggled. "You should go," she said softly, still smiling. "Uther will throw a fit if he finds out you're still here."

"Is he very protective?" Merlin inquired.

"Barely lets me outside," she told him with a sigh. Merlin nodded. He could relate.

With a yawn, Merlin picked up his notebooks and pushed them into his bag. "See you tomorrow," he told her.

She stood up. "We should study together more often," she stated.

"Yes," Merlin said, too quickly.

Morgana beamed at him. "Good night, Merlin," she said with false exasperation.

Merlin bowed slightly. "Good night, my lady."

* * *

Gaius was not awake when Merlin walked in. Instead, the kitchen light was on, and a note was sitting on the table that read _Don't be late_. Merlin pursed his lips, wondering if he should make this up to Gaius. He did want to stay.

He went to bed contemplating this, and when he slept he dreamed about it, but it did not give him a solution.

* * *

"Sit up," Gaius instructed Merlin. He obeyed, sitting up straighter while trying to eat Cheerios. His shirt was off, and the physician was inspecting the wound in his shoulder. Again.

"How much longer till it heals?" he asked, chewing.

"Oh, another week, I'd say," Gaius said speculatively. "Two if you keep running amok like you do."

"I was studying with the Lady Morgana!"

Gaius stepped back, his expression one of horror. For a moment, he and Merlin stared at each other. Then the physician took a deep breath and said, very carefully, "Merlin, when your mother told me you were… _deprived…_ I thought it was something I could deal with. But this—."

"Wait," Merlin interrupted, horror showing in his eyes, "are you thinking that I—? With the Lady?" he exclaimed. He began to feel massively uncomfortable at the mere thought of it and had to look away. "Gaius, I wasn't—I didn't—God. Do you really think I'm that much of an idiot!? Uther would rip me apart!"

Gaius hesitated. "Nothing I should be worried about then?"

"No."

"All right," he said, and he changed Merlin's bandages with renewed vigor, indeed ripping them off too fast and making Merlin wince. "I'm glad to hear it."

Merlin hesitated. "So you're not angry about last night?"

Gaius gave him a smile. "No. I understand now why you were late. I'm just thankful nothing is going on, else I'd have to let your father take you home."

Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"

The physician's tone dropped. "Balinor is on his way," Gaius told him severely. "The king received a message last night and Balinor should be here by sundown."

"_What!?_"

"Don't shout Merlin. I'm old but I'm not deaf."

"Gaius, what should I do?" Merlin cried.

"Keep your tone level," Gaius said plainly. "Now hold still, I have to put this on." He stuck the bandage to Merlin's stiff shoulder, flattened it out, and retreated. "Now, Merlin, what we are going to do is very simple."

Merlin slid his shirt back on and stared. "So you have a plan?"

"No. But you are going to go about your day, like normal, and I am going to take the day off to figure something out." Gaius looked at him seriously. "We can't afford for you to come under any suspicion, Merlin. You must act natural."

* * *

How was Merlin expected to "act natural" when his _father_ was coming to Camelot? He was antsy all through Chemistry. He did not even realize he was in French class. His history test was a disaster, and he hoped his handwriting was shaky enough that the teacher simply gave up. Morgana noticed and tried to ask him what was wrong, but he could not answer her. Instead he said, "I have to go," and all but ran off.

He went to see the dragon. He could think of nowhere else to go, and no one else to talk to.

"What should I do?" he pleaded with it. The great beast blinked its yellow eyes and watched him amusedly. "I… I've started a war! That's what I've done."

"Not yet," the dragon reminded him. "Young warlock, destiny is not fickle. It cannot be altered. What you are destined for has not yet played out."

"So there can't be a war?" Merlin asked hopefully.

The dragon peered at him. "I did not say that."

Merlin sat down on the floor, not caring how dusty it was. "If my father comes," he said quietly, "and I am found out, I will lose… everything."

"Everything?" the dragon queried.

"Everything," Merlin said, and he meant it. "I don't have much, but its more than I've ever had and I don't want to lose it. I can't. I can't go back to a life without Gwen, or Arthur, or Morgana, or Gwaine, or Gaius. I… I won't." To his surprise, Merlin felt close to tears. He hadn't cried in years. He'd had no reason to. Now he had something to lose, and it hurt.

The dragon seemed to sense his despair, for when it spoke again, it had lost its mocking tone. "Merlin," it said gently, "you have something worth fighting for." It lowered its head, so that it was eye level with him. "Now go _fight._"

Merlin wet his lips and gazed at the great beast. "How?" he whispered.

The dragon pulled back. It did not answer. Instead it unfurled its great wings and pulled back into the darkness. Merlin could hear it flying, filling the abandoned tunnel with _whoosh, whoosh_ as if the wind were blowing through.

Merlin sat there alone for a long time, staring furiously into the dark. He wished it would come back. He hated its cryptic advice and circular answers. He wished he was like his father, a full-fledged dragonlord, because he could force it back and make it talk. But he was not.

Eventually he got up, dusted himself off, and returned to Gaius.

* * *

"Did you come up with a plan?" Merlin asked hopelessly. He collapsed on the wooden chair at the kitchen table, which was covered in books and papers.

Gaius came into the room, another book in his hands and a pen in his mouth. He shook his head and sat down across from him. "I've been looking, Merlin," he said as he took the pen from his mouth. "I don't even know what for. And I have found nothing."

Merlin groaned. "And the stupid dragon had nothing to say either," he told him.

"What dragon?" Gaius said, looking up sharply.

For a moment, Merlin paused. Oops. "The one Uther has captive under Camelot?" he tried.

"In a tube tunnel?" Gaius supplied.

"You've met him?" Merlin wondered.

Gaius sighed. "So that's where you've been going," he said. He went back to his book. "Back to the matter at hand, I can see no solution, Merlin. You really don't have an excuse for being in Camelot. They will never accept a dragon call as a reason, and they won't be happy until they know you're gone."

Merlin sighed. "I know."

"Then let's hope your father has a plan."

There was a sharp knocking on the clinic door, making both of them jump. Gaius leaned back, trying to peer out the window. When they knocked again, he yelled, "We're closed for today!"

Apparently they did not hear, for they knocked a third time. With an exasperated sigh, the old man got up and hobbled to the door. He pulled it open. "We're—." He broke off. "Hunith!"

"Gaius!" A voice Merlin recognized all too well.

"Mum!" he cried, flying out of his chair so fast that he knocked it over.

"Hello uncle!" Queen Hunith of the Druids said cheerily. She gave Gaius a peck on the cheek. "How's my son?" Merlin appeared, and she beamed. "Merlin, love, how are you?" She opened her arms, and he ran to her.

"I'm brilliant, Mum," he told her, hugging her tight. She was dressed like a mortal, in tan shorts and a patterned red shirt.

Gaius gaped at her. "Is it safe for you here?" he demanded.

"Oh yes, don't worry," Hunith informed him, releasing Merlin. "I've got a glamour on." She looked at her son. "Merlin, I can't believe you left it sitting outside!" she cried.

"Left what?" Merlin inquired. He peered out of the open door and broke into a grin. "My guitar!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I have been _waiting _for this!"

"Hunith, as much as I love to see my favorite niece," Gaius said with a tone of seriousness that killed the mood, "I can't see why this is a happy occasion."

"Does Dad have a plan?" Merlin asked, hopeful.

Hunith looked at him. "His plan is to take you home."

Merlin lowered his eyes. He wanted to protest, but he knew what he had done. It would be fitting punishment, he supposed. Of course, the moment he crossed the border, he intended on turning around and coming right back to Camelot.

"And to threaten war."

"What?" Merlin said. "Why?" No. He didn't want war. That wasn't supposed to happen!

Hunith's eyes had lost all joy, and were replaced with a grim severity. "He intends to accuse Uther of kidnapping you. What he wants is for them both to reach the conclusion that you ran away, benignly, because you're a teenager. And then Uther will demand that you leave his kingdom and Balinor will question whether you're still _in_ the kingdom, because he'll remember you talking about the Anglicans and how fascinating they were. That should put Uther's mind to rest, and we will see from there." She gazed at Merlin. "Meanwhile you will stay here, acting normal, until you get an unexpected call from home and have to return to care for your elder sister."

Merlin blinked. "So I can't stay?" he murmured.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Hunith said sympathetically. "I still believe I did the right thing, sending you here, and I wish you could stay longer."

"Can't Dad be persuaded?" Merlin pleaded.

Hunith gave him a sad smile. "I've been trying. I'll let you know."

At that moment, the clinic door swung open, and in marched who else but the prince of Camelot. "_Mer_lin," he stated, folding his arms, "do you or do you not have things you should be doing right now?"

Merlin gawked. Hunith gawked. Gaius shifted awkwardly.

"Is that the prince?" Hunith said with no small amount of fascination.

Arthur seemed to notice her for the first time. "Oh," he said, blinking. Confusion crossed his face. "You seem familiar, madam, have we met?"

"No," she assured him, and she extended her hand. "I'm Harriet, Merlin's mother." She looked at her son. "You didn't mention you were friends with the _prince!_" Her tone held just enough reproach for Merlin to realize she was not happy with this development.

"We're not," Arthur informed her, cutting off whatever Merlin might have said. "Our relationship is strictly professional."

Merlin closed his mouth and did not retort.

"Professional?" Hunith repeated. "Is he your servant?"

"Basically," Merlin muttered, while Arthur answered, "No."

Hunith chuckled. "Merlin, you'd make a terrible servant."

"He does," Arthur told her. Merlin shot him a glare. "Anyways, Merlin, I need you. The king of the Druids is on his way and I need you for chores."

"Can't one of your other lackeys do it?" Merlin complained. He gestured to the Druid queen. "I'm busy."

Arthur pursed his lips. Merlin could see the conflict on his face. He didn't want to take Merlin from his mother, he could see that, but he also really wanted Merlin to come and help him.

Hunith touched Merlin's arm, making him look at her. "It's all right, dear," she told him, and she kissed his forehead. "I have an appointment anyway." She smiled at Arthur. "It was very nice to meet you, Prince Arthur," she said. She bowed and left the clinic, the door closing with a light slam behind her.

"Are you coming, Merlin?" Arthur called, already leaving.

Merlin looked to Gaius. The old man nodded. "Go on. I'll keep searching."

* * *

"Was that a guitar sitting on your kitchen table?" Arthur inquired as they trekked back to the castle.

"What?" Merlin said. He was lost, thinking about how his days in Camelot were numbered.

"A guitar," Arthur repeated. "On the table."

"Yeah, it's mine."

Arthur gave him a look of disbelief. "You play?" he laughed.

"Yes, I do, all right?" Merlin snapped.

"I was simply curious, Merlin, do calm down," Arthur retorted, looking huffy. They turned into the courtyard with the guards nodding respectfully. No scans or searches when Merlin was with the prince. "Go and fetch my laundry," he ordered, pointing. "Meet me in my chambers."

"You need help getting dressed?" Merlin said mockingly.

Arthur scowled. "Just… go get it." He turned and made his way towards his room.

Merlin hurried through the halls. Now that he was in the castle, his brain was spinning with potential plots to escape the inevitable. What would be a reasonable excuse for Emrys to be in Camelot? Nothing he could think of. And would Uther really buy the Anglican story? What if he didn't? What if he _did?_ Then Merlin would—

Wait.

Merlin stopped in his tracks, tilting his head as if listening. He could hear nothing out of the ordinary. But he could _feel_ it. That wonderful, magical feeling, more powerful than he had ever felt in Camelot. It wasn't just standing magic. Someone was casting a spell.

Hesitantly, Merlin followed the feeling. It was like the air cleared, like he had had poor vision and just put on glasses. His heart fluttered in response to the feeling. The hairs on his arms stood up with the life of it.

Anyone doing magic in Camelot, Merlin thought as he walked, was not doing so with good intentions. He was sure of that. He also remembered what the dragon had said, that his magic was like a beacon to other sorcerers. How could he creep up on a magician if his very proximity gave him away?

Well, Merlin could probably take them, if it came down to it. He resolved to this solution and kept walking.

He was close enough now that he could hear their murmurs. His ears picked up the powerful words, recognizing terms he knew were sinister. He came to a stop outside the heavy kitchen door, cracked just enough. Slowly, slowly, Merlin pushed it open fully.

A cloaked figure stood at one of the sinks, their back to him. He could hear the words leaving their lips, low and purposeful, along with a bubbling noise. They did not seem to notice him.

Merlin crept up to them. They kept casting. He searched his mind for spells to use. What would be most effective here? And not let him get caught? He could feel their magic pulsing outwards and he had felt it before. He recognized it. Carefully he reached out with his hand, then abruptly grabbed their shoulder and spun them around.

She gasped. Her dark hood fell away and her golden eyes faded to blue. "You!" she hissed.

"Cara?" Merlin said incredulously. Then he noticed the sink. It was glowing and resonating with power. "What—?"

Cara smacked his hand away. "Damned boy!" she hissed, fury glowing in her eyes. "You should be dead!"

Merlin looked at her. "What were you doing?"

Cara ran to the door, but it closed shut in front of her. She turned to face Merlin again. "I was doing _justice,_" she snapped.

Blinking, Merlin looked back to the sink. Its glow had faded, but the magic he felt had not. He pointed. "What is that?" he demanded.

A smile pulled on the witch's lips. "I know who you are," she said quietly. "And you are a _traitor_ to your _kind,_ Emrys!" He flinched when she said his name, which only made her smile more. "I am doing what is right. I am going to _save_ the Druids from the wrath of the mortals." As she spoke, she moved about the wall. "Balinor is too soft. His pity will be his undoing. I'm simply ensuring he doesn't take the rest of his people down with him!" At this last word, she lunged for the window. Merlin threw his hand and pulled her back with a simple word. She laughed from where she lay on the floor.

"_Who are you?_" Merlin demanded. "Are you Fey? What have you done? Answer me!"

"I'll tell them!" she shrieked. "I know your face and your name and I'll scream it to the world!"

"Are you Fey!?" repeated Merlin.

Cara cackled. Her eyes flashed with gold and a pot came flying at Merlin's head, which he narrowly dodged. In his split second distraction she jumped to her feet and in a furl of robes leapt from the window.

Merlin ran to the open window and stared. Cara had vanished.

Damn, she was good.

He had no time for grudging admiration. Hurriedly, he ran to the sink. Cara had put something in it. To do what? He dropped to his knees and pulled the cabinet open, revealing some piping and a few bottles of dish detergent.

He should tell Gaius. He should tell his father. This could start a war. Merlin stood up and looked around the kitchen. There! He rushed over to the wall and picked up the corded telephone that hung there. He messed up twice, but eventually he remembered the numbers Gaius had drilled into his head and soon the phone was ringing.

Gaius's voice sounded at the other end. "Hello?"

"Gaius!" Merlin exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud. "Gaius something's wrong. A woman, Cara, the one who poisoned me. She's done something to the sink in the kitchen."

"What?" Gaius said.

Okay, not loud enough. "There is a_ witch _in_ Camelot _and she's_ done something _to the_ sink,_" he said, loudly and clearly.

"Ouch, Merlin, I heard you the first time. What did she do?"

"I don't _know,_" Merlin said, exasperated. "But it was glowing, and now it's not. And I really doubt it's friendly." He breathed in, trying not to panic. "What can I do, Gaius? My father is here and there is someone trying to—."

"Merlin."

Merlin broke off and stared. Prince Arthur sallied into the kitchen. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a look of simpering disapproval on his face. "This isn't the laundry," he stated.

"No, I guess it isn't," Merlin said, holding the phone away from his ear.

Arthur nodded at it. "Who are you talking to?" he inquired with false pleasantry.

"Gaius," Merlin replied easily.

"And what, pray tell, was so important that you had to diverge from the task I had set you on and tell Gaius about?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur was getting on his last nerve. "Well, _sire,_ if you really must know," he said, adopting Arthur's tone, "I was walking by, fully intent on retrieving your highly important laundry, when I happened to notice someone who was doing, brace yourself, _magic._ And—."

Arthur straightened up. "What?" he snapped.

"Stop interrupting—."

"No, Merlin, this is important," whispered Arthur. "It could have been Emrys."

Merlin had to remember to act disbelieving. "Pretty sure the prince is a _man,_ Arthur."

The prince's excitement faded. "It was a woman?" he asked, with less enthusiasm.

"Yes, and she dropped something in the sink," Merlin said importantly.

Arthur scowled. "She must be working for the Druids," he murmured. "We must tell my father."

Merlin's eyes widened. He opened his mouth and almost spoke, but then snapped it shut. Wordlessly, he followed Arthur out of the kitchen with a quick glance back at the sink.

It all seemed normal.

* * *

**Let me assure you that Merlin playing guitar is nothing you should worry about. It's purely for comedic purposes, and he looks like he would be musical. Thank you for reading! **


	6. Afanc

_From _Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed._

_Every Druid has their own special magic, like a fingerprint. Their spells leave traces and demonstrate their handiwork. Any Druid can be forced to confess their true name, as per the Dragon Covenant. If a Druid speaks his name, and his eyes do not flash silver, he is lying._

**Chapter Six**

**Afanc**

Arthur walked briskly to his father's study, Merlin trotting behind him. The guards were busy magic-proofing the throne room, where the meeting with Balinor would take place. All of them wore the bright red AM capes, and Merlin felt every single one of them as he and Arthur hurried past the room.

The door to the study was open, so Arthur walked right in. Merlin hung back, uncertain whether he was allowed inside without being summoned.

Uther was leaning over his desk with the head knight Leon, and they both looked up when Arthur stormed in. "Father," Arthur said before he could be questioned, "this is urgent." He turned around, looking for Merlin, and when he saw him at the doorway he beckoned him. When Merlin approached, he said, "Explain to the king what you saw, Merlin." He gave Merlin a look said, _And with less sass, please._

Merlin pursed his lips. Oh god. "I, erm, saw a sorceress in the kitchen. She said a spell and dropped something in the sink, and it, um, glowed." He bit on the inside of his cheek, angry with himself. That didn't make her sound like a Druid at _all, _brilliant.

"Father, I believe the Druids are…" Arthur trailed off, realizing he didn't quite know what he believed the Druids were doing.

Uther nodded. "Balinor must have sent her ahead. Perhaps it's some sort of… magic bomb," he decided.

Merlin almost laughed. It certainly wasn't that.

"Arthur, go find this… glowing thing," Uther ordered. "Along with the Druid responsible."

"I don't think she's a Druid," Merlin said.

Suddenly all eyes were piercing him like blades. Merlin realized his mistake. He should not have spoken. Arthur pursed his lips. "And what," he said, carefully, "makes you think that?"

Uther relaxed and awaited the reply.

Merlin blinked. Did… did Arthur just _protect_ him? "Um, well, her clothes, sire," he said shakily. "I've seen Druids, and they don't dress like that."

The king rolled his eyes. "Obviously she has to _blend in—_Arthur," he said, exasperated, "take your pathetic servant and carry out your orders."

"Yes sire," Arthur said with a bow, and he walked promptly out of the room.

Once they were far enough away, Arthur grabbed Merlin's shoulder and glared. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, saying something like that?" he demanded.

"I just don't think she's a Druid!" Merlin stated.

"What, because she was in jeans?"

"No, I… a hunch, I suppose."

Arthur stared at him with bewilderment. "You risked speaking out of turn in front of the _king _of Camelot because you had a _hunch?_" He gawked. "Merlin, you know he could have had you gutted, right?"

Actually, Merlin did not, but it was nice to know that. "I don't want this non-Druid to start any unnecessary wars," he stated plainly.

Arthur blinked. He bit at his lip thoughtfully. "Well," he said eventually, "let's go find the glowing thing."

* * *

"The Druid King is due here in one hour," Arthur stated, and he started perusing the armory. "We need to find that thing before he gets here."

"He's taking his time," Merlin muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Arthur appeared from around the corner and placed a sword in Merlin's hand. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked seriously.

Merlin gave him a _look_ such that Arthur rolled his eyes and left the weapon with him. Even though Merlin really did not know how to use anything besides his staff. Well, high time he learned, he supposed.

Arthur returned again with two torches. He was about to toss one to Merlin when he noticed something behind him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Merlin turned. Behind him was none other than the Lady Morgana.

"I'm helping," Morgana stated.

Arthur laughed. "No you're not," he replied.

Morgana glared. "Yes I am, Arthur."

"How did you even hear about this?" he jeered.

The lady narrowed her eyes. "I have my friends in the castle, as I am sure you have yours." She looked at Merlin and smiled. "Hello, Merlin, how are you?" she said pleasantly.

Merlin blinked. "Um, fine," he said. Then he realized he had to be cool and smiled. "And you?" he asked.

"Splendid." She looked at her brother. "Merlin, do you mind if I come along?" she inquired sweetly.

"No, not at all," Merlin replied. Anything to spend more time with the lady.

Arthur looked at him as if he could kill him. Morgana's smile became even more pleased. "Right then," she said. "I'll fetch my sword."

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Arthur scowled at Merlin. "You're useless," he snapped.

Merlin jumped. He had been watching Morgana and waiting for her to come back. "What?"

Arthur paused. He seemed to be thinking. "Nothing," he said as Morgana came back around the corner. He rotated his injured shoulder and shrugged it. "Right, let's go."

"Where are we going?" Merlin wondered.

"There's a sewage system under Camelot," Morgana told him as they walked. "Since we can't really track the thing through the pipes we'll have to start there."

"That's the only place it can end up," Arthur added. "All the pipes lead back there eventually."

"There's an aqueduct under the castle," said Morgana. "All the city's water comes from there."

"So if this thing's deadly, it could poison the entire city!" exclaimed Merlin.

"Yes so let's get it before it does!"

_And before my father arrives,_ Merlin thought with a flare of panic.

They jogged out of the castle, trotting down the steps with their weapons in hand. The knights had donned their AM capes and were patrolling the grounds. Merlin held his breath as they passed them.

"There's a set of stairs out here somewhere," Arthur told them. He followed the castle wall, feeling through the ivy that had grown up along it. "It leads right to the aqueduct."

"It's further along," Morgana told him with hint of arrogance.

Arthur paused in his search. "No, it's here."

"All right." Morgana shrugged. She exchanged a knowing glance with Merlin, who grinned.

Abruptly Arthur pulled away from the wall. "It's further along," he declared, and he marched off.

* * *

They jogged down the stairs, the flashlights waving in their hands in their rush. Arthur was in the lead, and Merlin kept up the rear. He had no idea what they might be facing. And that worried him.

It was further down than Merlin had expected, but suddenly the ground leveled. Arthur pointed his torch at the wall and found a switch. The space lit up dimly. Merlin looked up and could see naked wires and bulbs stretched across the stone ceiling. The light revealed some desks with scattered maintenance tools and papers, along with a large metal machine of sorts. There was a humming sound and the dripping of water coming from somewhere, but no water in sight.

"Where's the water?" Merlin inquired.

"There's a tunnel system," Arthur told him, "from where the water used to be. The water is down that way." He pointed to one of the dark tunnels with his torch. "That humming you're hearing is the pump that brings the water to the surface."

"Huh," Merlin said, because it was actually very interesting and he wanted to know about it.

Arthur glanced back at him. "I'll take this way," he said, gesturing to where the water was. "You and Morgana take that tunnel. All the tunnels circle, so we'll end up back here, all right?" He looked at them seriously. "If you find it, shout, all right?"

"Do you think we'll need your help?" Morgana asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Not you, him," Arthur replied. Merlin did not get a chance to look mad. Arthur had already nodded and vanished into the dark tunnel ahead.

Morgana turned to Merlin. "Shall we?" she said happily. She unsheathed her sword. Her other hand found his. Merlin readied his weapon as well. In his left hand. Which was nearly useless, considering he was right-handed. But Morgana was holding his right hand and he was not about to give that up.

They stepped into the tunnel together.

For a few steps there was darkness. Then there was a light bulb above their heads, and one a few yards down.

"So it was just a glowing thing?" Morgana inquired in a hushed tone as they crept along.

"Yeah, I don't know what," Merlin replied, matching her volume.

"So it could just be like, soap."

Merlin shrugged. "I doubt it, but yeah."

Morgana gasped quietly. "What if it's like those things that you drop in water and they grow?"

"I do not know those things."

"Well, whatever," Morgana said. "It's probably nothing." Suddenly her hand was clutching Merlin's arm. "Did you hear that?" she whispered. She held her sword defensively.

"Hear wh—?" But then, Merlin heard it. A screech, of sorts, echoed through the tunnel. "What is that."

"I've never heard anything like that before," Morgana mumbled. She straightened up. "Let's go find it."

They dropped their hands and sneaked along the tunnel wall, Merlin in front because he held the torch. He heard the thing, over to his left, but then again on his right or maybe from behind? "It's moving," he decided.

Morgana gasped. "I think I just saw it," she said with a swallow.

Merlin whipped around. "Where?"

"I don't know, it just… it was in the light back there and then it wasn't." She looked at Merlin. "It's _huge._"

Merlin nodded, grabbed her hand, and turned. "Let's go find Ar—." He broke off with a strangled yelp and nearly dropped the torch.

The thing had appeared in the torchlight like a ghost, its mouth open and noise filled up the entire tunnel and made their ears ring. It was hideous, made of lumps and muck and smelling like wet earth. It had no eyes. And, when it reared back on its legs, Merlin realized it was much taller than he was.

Morgana gave a screech and lunged forward. Her sword went easily into its belly. She let go and retreated, pulling Merlin along with her.

The thing did not even notice. It landed heavily back on its legs and charged at them, undeterred by the blade in its gut.

Merlin gave Morgana a shove. "Go, _go!_" he shouted, and they sprinted back they way they had come, legs pushing hard against the damp ground in their effort to get away. But the things screams behind them never lessened. It kept right with them.

"What is that?" Morgana screamed.

"Probably not friendly!" Merlin retorted.

As they bolted, Merlin fought to figure out what it was. It was made of mud, right? And magic. Had he ever learned of anything like that?

They rounded a bend and kept running. Ahead of them, they could see the room they had entered from, more well-lit than the tunnels they had been in. Merlin and Morgana entered it, and for a moment they could see better. Merlin glanced back. The thing was even uglier in the light.

"Arthur!" Morgana called as they ran. "Arthur, run!"

Farther ahead, they saw the glint of Arthur's flashlight. "What?" he said back.

"_Run!_" they screamed together. Behind them, the creature cried again, urging their burning legs.

They flew past Arthur, but only briefly. He did not join them in their flight. Upon realizing he was not with them, they skidded to a halt. Merlin turned to see Arthur crouching defensively, his stance wide and his blade at the ready.

The creature galumphed toward him. They could smell it nearing. It appeared in flashes, in and out of the lights on the ceiling. Arthur was in danger. Merlin had to save him. Suddenly he knew what spell to use. He knew exactly what he needed. He raised his foot and broke into a sprint towards the mortal prince, his eyes just beginning to glow gold.

Unexpectedly Arthur charged, a war cry ripping through his throat. He swung his sword upwards, into the beast's neck.

Its head soared into the air and landed with a wet thud. Its body slowed with wet slaps and finally stopped.

"Oh," Morgana said, panting. "Is that all you had to do?"

Arthur was breathless as well. "It was impressive," he replied with a small smile, "and you know it."

Merlin gawked at the thing's body. "They head is growing back," he stated.

"What?" Arthur said.

"It's growing another head!" Merlin cried.

All three of them stared at it for a moment. Then, as if on signal, they fled.

"How is it growing another head?" Arthur demanded.

"I don't bloody_ know, _my lord, so save your breath!"

They sprinted into the main room again. But this time, Merlin stopped. He knew the spell. But he could not do it now. Instead, he hurried over to the desks and began rifling through the drawers.

"Merlin what are you _doing!?_" Arthur growled, right in his ear. Strong arms gripped his shoulders and started to drag him away.

"No, stop!" Merlin protested. He had found what he needed. "Look, I found matches!"

Not really, no, he didn't. Druids don't need matches. What he actually found was a broken corner of the desk (that he may have used magic to obtain). He now had wood.

He ripped himself out of Arthur's grip before the prince could look too closely at it and ran to the opening of the tunnel. The creature was rushing towards him. Its scent washed over him and made him gag. Yet he waited, fuel in hand. It drew closer… closer… _closer..._ "_Forbaerne,_" he whispered into his hand. The wood caught fire, but it did not burn his hand. The light of it lit up the creature's face. Merlin thought he saw fear. With a victorious smirk, he hurled the fire at the monster.

It did not go dramatically into the thing's mouth, like he had hoped. Instead it ricocheted off its nose and bounced on its back, whereupon the whole beast caught fire with an agonized scream. It lit up the whole tunnel, and did not stop running while it burned. Finally it gave up, and started to roll about on the ground. The fire dried it up. It crumbled as the flames receded, out of fuel, and became dust.

All that was left was a little glowing orb.

Merlin grinned at his handiwork. He turned around to see Arthur and Morgana gaping at him, thoroughly dumbstruck. "What?" Merlin said, albeit proud at their faces.

"Nothing, nothing, just, um…" Arthur frowned. "How did you know?"

"Maybe I'm just smart," Merlin answered.

"Oh my God," Morgana mumbled, exasperated. But she was smiling, too.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right, well, if you're so smart, what's your reward for doing such a splendid job?"

Merlin hesitated. "Extra dessert?"

"Close," Arthur said with a nod. "You get to do the dishes!" He clapped Merlin's shoulder and smiled like this was the funniest thing in the world. "Pick that thing up and let's go." He sheathed his sword and headed for the stairwell.

"And my sword, Merlin!" Morgana told him, following Arthur.

Merlin scowled after them, but he obediently knelt down to scoop up Morgana's sword and the little orb of light.

But the orb felt strange.

It felt _alive._

* * *

**I hope you found this chapter enjoyable! I'm working diligently on chapter eight but I'm afraid my posting has caught up with me. **


	7. Wings

_From _Earth Angels: an in-depth analysis of Anglican culture

_The Anglicans are not beings of magic. They are winged mortals, and closer to humans than to Druids. Their society is dictated by religion, and much political power resides in the Anglican Church._

**Chapter Seven**

**Wings**

"Announcing the Druid King Balinor and Queen Hunith." The squire bowed politely and moved aside. The doors to the throne room opened slowly, and the king and queen entered.

A row of knights stood on either side of the carpet, in full armor and AM capes. Balinor walked forward with his head high, despite the presence of so much anti-magic material. Hunith remained tall and smiled as she walked. They were trailed by a small entourage of mages, some hooded and some not, depending on their position.

Merlin avoided eye contact with his parents. He stood behind Prince Arthur, whose sword was at his hip and still muddy, and held the magic ball. Morgana had gone through an emergency cleaning session, likely at the hands of Gwen, and now looked regal but a bit flustered. She was poised atop her throne, beside Uther, where his queen would normally be.

Balinor and Hunith came to a stop before Uther. They did not bow.

"You sent for us, King Uther?" Balinor asked politely. As if they were equals.

Uther gave a sharp nod. "Yes, King Balinor, I did. And if you read my message, you know why."

"Yes, it would seem you have found my son." Balinor seemed to sag with relief. "I appreciate it."

For a moment, Uther looked confused. "What do you mean?" he snapped.

"Emrys has been missing," Hunith interjected, and on her face was all the pain of a mother missing her son. "He vanished over a month ago. We thought he had been kidnapped."

"And why did you keep this secret?"

"We didn't want to seem vulnerable, Uther," Balinor said with as much exasperation as he could muster.

"How dare he," Arthur muttered, and his hand tightened into a fist.

"How do I know he wasn't sent here to spy, Balinor?" Uther accused. "An anonymous prince? Terribly convenient."

"I have no reason to spy," Balinor replied. His tone was confused. "We are at peace." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you kidnapped him, Uther. Which at this point is still a likely scenario."

Both kings stared intensely at each other, until Hunith put herself between them.

"Emrys is naïve," she pleaded. "He ran away because of some _stupid_ teenage notion that he needs to rebel."

_Thanks, Mom,_ Merlin thought sourly.

Uther pursed his lips. "It would do me infinite pleasure to return your son to you, my lady," he said forcedly, "but I do not have him."

"What?" Hunith exclaimed.

"Look around!" Uther snapped, gesturing. "Do you see your son here?" It was a dangerous question. The mortal king went silent and evaluated her reaction.

Hunith actually teared up and looked away. She covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to keep her sobs back as she gazed around the room. "He's not here," she said, mostly to Balinor.

"I told you he probably wasn't," Balinor murmured in reply, just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

Uther scowled. "What do you mean, he's not here?" he demanded.

Balinor looked a little uncertain, but he retained his kingly expression. "Uther, I think Emrys may have passed through your kingdom. I believe he may be with the Anglicans, or at least trying to get there."

"Without his staff?" Uther said, and he smiled.

"You have his staff?" Balinor questioned.

Merlin saw it. The moment when fake distress became real. It showed on his father's face for barely an instant. Then it was gone. Anyone else would have brushed it off as imagination.

But when you only know a few faces for your entire life, you know everything about them.

Balinor blinked, and his expression was under control again. "Uther," he said seriously, "have you contacted the Anglican king?"

"Why not show us his face?" Uther suggested lightly. "Someone is bound to have seen him."

"You know I cannot," Balinor told him in a low voice.

Uther stared at him. "Very well," he said. "I will send a message to Avious. In the meantime, perhaps you can answer for this." He beckoned Arthur with one finger.

Arthur turned around and took the ball from Merlin, then approached Uther and handed it to him. Uther picked it up delicately and examined it, even though he had already done so earlier. "One of our serving boys happened to see a woman drop this in one of our drains. My son Arthur went down to investigate and found a—what did you call it, Gaius?"

"An afanc," Gaius said obediently.

"An afanc," Uther repeated curiously. He glanced at the ball again. "Which is a very deadly bit of hocus pocus, according to Gaius."

"An afanc?" Balinor said, confused. "But that doesn't make any sense. You can't just have an egg, you need magic—." He broke off. "You don't think—?"

"I have every reason to believe your sorcerers are behind this, Balinor!" spat Uther.

The room was tense with silence. No one did more than breathe.

Finally, Balinor reached out a hand. "Let me see it," he stated. Uther snorted. "No, really," Balinor went on. "Magic is different for everyone. It leaves marks like fingerprints, as I'm sure you know." He was only a little demeaning, but Uther still bristled.

"There will be no magic performed in my court," Uther told him firmly.

"It won't take magic," Balinor said. "You could do it, Uther, if you had the data to match it to."

Uther pursed his lips and considered this. His leg bounced agitatedly. "Gaius, can you do it?" he said quickly.

"Yes sire."

"Then do it."

A servant ran up and took the ball from Uther to Gaius. Gaius squinted at it. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then decided against it. All eyes were on him.

"Sire," he said finally, "this is the, erm, mark of Nimueh."

There was a hush. Uther stared at him so long Merlin thought his eyes might pop out. "What?"

"Nimueh?" Balinor repeated. His eyes widened. "I assure you she is not a Druid! She—."

"I know," Uther interrupted. He sighed and waved his hand. "Give the Druid king and queen a suite for the night, and a room for their mages," he said, and he sounded exhausted.

"But what about Emrys?" Hunith asked tentatively.

"I will call for Avious and the matter shall be dealt with upon his arrival. Now go."

* * *

The next day the Anglicans arrived.

"Isn't Anglo a few days away?" Merlin inquired as he and Gwen watched the procession of Anglicans file into the palace.

"Not by plane," Gwen told him. "And I'm sure King Avious was eager to get that phone call." She frowned in surprise as two winged men without shirts walked by, carrying a trunk between them.

"Why's that?" Merlin wondered.

"Oh, he wants his daughter to marry Arthur _so_ badly," she informed him. "He would love that alliance." She pursed her lips. "Here is the bird king." Then she blanched. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Merlin was too busy stifling his laughter. "All right," he promised.

The Anglican king was large in every way. His shoulders, his arms, his feet, his head, his gut. He had a blond, graying beard that matched his nearly golden wings. He walked with a large smile on his face. Unlike Uther, who only occasionally wore his crown, or Balinor, who wore the traditional henna markings on his forehead, this man went all out displaying who he was. His clothes were light and airy, embroidered at the seams and bejeweled conservatively. He wore the winged circlet of the Anglicans and a cross around his neck.

But most impressive was how he walked. He did not fold up his wings like the others did. He walked with them fully spread, looming above and around him. And they were enormous—they had to be to lift someone of his size. His eyes were twinkling and gold, and he looked very happy to be there.

"He seems nice," Merlin noted.

"Oh, and this must be the princess," Gwen said, ignoring him. She craned her neck to see.

Bellemistis was the Anglican princess's name. Her wings were pure white and tucked neatly against her back. Her hair was almost white, glowing in the sunlight. She had large, blue eyes and her frame was very delicate, much like a bird and nothing like her father. Her dress was dark blue and embroidered with white doves and feathers. In her hair was a more feminine Anglican circlet, with two blue feathers hanging from it.

She followed her father with her head up high, but her eyes were wandering. She looked at everything. The people, the castle, the street. She met Merlin's eyes briefly, and continued gazing about. But suddenly her eyes flicked back to Merlin's and stayed there. She watched him until she disappeared through the door.

Merlin kept his eyes on the door until Gwen nudged him playfully. "Watch yourself, Merlin. If my lady sees you making those eyes like that, she'll get jealous."

"She looked first," Merlin argued.

Gwen shrugged. "She is very pretty," she stated. "More than a match for Arthur."

"Maybe Arthur will leave me alone for once," Merlin grumbled.

"You won't get that lucky," Gwen told him with a teasing smile. "Come on. We're needed in the castle."

They had barely passed through the doorway when Arthur appeared. "_Mer_lin," he snapped, "didn't I—." He broke off with a swallow. "Guinevere," he said.

Gwen smiled prettily. "Hello Arthur."

Arthur inhaled through his nose and avoided looking at her. "Merlin, I need you. Come on."

Merlin rolled his eyes and followed him to the stairs. "Yes sire?" he asked with disinterest.

"You need to be beside me in the meeting," Arthur told him. "But, um, that's not important. Look, you play guitar, right?"

Merlin frowned. "Yeah, why?"

Arthur smiled shyly. "Well, I happen to know that Guinevere is fan of music," he said, with a notion of pride.

"Is she?" Merlin asked sarcastically.

"Yes, and I was wondering if you might… instruct me on a few chords."

Merlin blinked. "Now?"

"No not _now,_ you idiot, she can see us!" Arthur hissed. "And I have visiting regents to entertain. _Later._"

"…All right."

"Excellent." Arthur grinned and slapped Merlin on the back. "Now let's go to the meeting. Bring a water pitcher."

* * *

Merlin was waiting for Arthur in the conference room, where the meeting of kings about him would take place. He was holding his pitcher and thinking, _See Arthur?_ _I'm a bloody good servant, you clotpole._ He was glad he would be able to sit through this meeting, though. After all, it _was_ about him.

Uther entered first, wearing a pristine gray suit. He took his seat at the head of the table, facing the door. The first thing he did was raise his glass for Merlin to fill.

Next came Arthur. He assumed his place at his father's right side and gave Merlin an appreciative eyebrow raise.

Then came Balinor. His expression was calm. He nodded to Merlin and took his assigned place. And, of course, he raised his glass for Merlin to fill.

Merlin came over and leaned down to pour the water. "_We will fix this, don't worry,_" he said, his voice barely audible.

Merlin pulled back. Balinor did not look at him. The exchange could easily have never happened.

Then entered the Anglican king. He was beaming. His daughter followed him, head high. She sat beside her father and was quiet. Uther looked at her and bit his tongue.

Next was Sir Leon. He sat on Uther's other side. A mage trailed after him, hooded. Merlin could tell by his robes that he was high ranking, potentially Balinor's highest mage, but Merlin did not know. After them entered an Anglican soldier. He held a ceremonial spear and wore on his head a winged helmet. All three of them took the remaining places at the table.

"Avious," Uther said carefully. He folded his hands on the table. "Don't you think that this is not the place for… your daughter?"

Avious looked around as if he had no idea his daughter was with him. "Oh! So it is. But dear Bella can't just run about Camelot alone, can she?" he said loudly.

Uther closed his mouth and tried not to roll his eyes. "Prince Arthur," he said, looking to his son, "would be happy to escort her around."

Arthur gaped at his father. Uther gave a small jerk of his head. Arthur continued to stare in disbelief. "_Go,_" the king mouthed.

Reluctantly Arthur stood up. "I would, princess," he said tersely.

Princess Bellemistis glanced at her father. He nodded approvingly. She rose to her feet and bowed her head.

Arthur made eye contact with Merlin as he took her arm, and Merlin knew he had to go with them. With a sigh, he set the pitcher on the table and hurried out after them. The door shut with a definite slam.

"So what would you like to do?" Arthur asked, in a tone that made it clear he did not want to do _anything._

Bellemistis had been staring at Merlin. Then she blinked and looked at Arthur. "I would like to eat, my lord," she told him briskly.

"Wonderful. I will see to it that we eat. Merlin," Arthur said, beckoning, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

Merlin followed Arthur a few yards away. "Look," the prince began, using his hands, "I need you to entertain the princess."

"What?" Merlin exclaimed.

"Just for the afternoon."

Merlin stared. "While you do what, sire?"

"_That's_ none of your business, Merlin," Arthur snapped. He bit his lip. "But I can't let Guinevere see me with another woman."

"Arthur, she is _not_ your girlfriend yet," said Merlin pointedly.

"Yet," Arthur pointed out. When Merlin still looked unconvinced, Arthur pursed his lips and looked at him sadly. "Please?"

For a moment, Merlin could not believe the mortal prince. Then he rolled his eyes and sagged in defeat. "Fine," he conceded.

"Excellent. Piddle pip." And Arthur was gone.

Merlin sighed. He collected himself into a smile and turned to face the princess. "My lord has some rather important… things to train the knights. He will rejoin us later."

Bellemistis frowned at Arthur's retreating form. She looked Merlin up and down. "And you will be escorting me," she stated.

"Yes my lady," he said with a bow.

The princess ruffled her wings indignantly. "Very well then."

Merlin nodded, feeling awkward. "I will take us to the kitchens, then," he decided. He offered her his arm. She looked at it like it was diseased. Embarrassed, he pulled it back and cleared his throat. "This way."

* * *

The cooks took one look at the princess and loaded Merlin with a two-tiered tray consisting of wine, several small sandwiches and meatballs, and dozens of cakes and pastries. He carried it unsteadily to the balcony and set it on the small white table there. He placed the goblet on the table and proceeded to fill it with wine, then pulled the chair back for the princess.

Bellemistis took her seat, smoothed out her blue dress, and stared at him. "Sit," she told him, pointing to the opposite chair.

Merlin blinked. Silently he took his seat and waited.

Bellemistis took the small blue plate from the tray and placed it in front of her. She gingerly picked up three of the sandwiches. "I don't eat meat," she told him as she removed the turkey from her bread. "And I don't believe in wasting food."

For a moment, Merlin was confused. Then it hit him what she was inferring. He picked up the second blue plate and put as many meatballs as he could on it.

"Some wine?" she offered, tipping the bottle towards him.

Merlin thought it was probably rude to decline, so he lifted up the second goblet, and she poured him his drink.

"What's Arthur like?" she asked him.

Merlin paused. "You want to talk?" he asked, uncertain.

"About Arthur, yes."

He thought about his answer. She took small bites of her sandwich and watched him intently. "He's noble," he replied. He speared a meatball and ate it whole.

"How so?"

"He doesn't hesitate to help."

"Is he smart?"

"No, he's terrible at arithmetic."

"Honest?"

Merlin shrugged. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"He lied to Uther to protect me."

At this, Bellemistis smiled. "So he knows what you are, then?"

Merlin froze mid-chew. He swallowed painfully and met her eyes with practiced seriousness. "My lady, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he said calmly.

Her wings spread slightly, then pulled back. Her eyes glittered. "I see." She finished off her last sandwich and plucked several cakes daintily from the tray. "And what of the Lady Morgana?"

Merlin still felt uncomfortable. He searched the princess's eyes and found more than curiosity, but he was not sure what. "She's smarter than he is," he said eventually.

"Is she as beautiful as they say?"

"More."

Bellemistis arched a thin, blonde eyebrow at this. She bit gently into the icing of a cake and licked it off her lips. "_For her beauty could challenge the stars and moon, and that is why they took her._"

Merlin stared. "What?"

"A very famous Anglican poet," Bellemistis told him. "One of my favorites. The line is from 'She,' which he supposedly wrote about a Druid priestess."

"What's his name?"

"Terren."

"I think my mother has one of his books." He picked up a cake and took a bite. It was wondrously sweet.

Bellemistis stared at him. She cocked her head and touched the feathers in her circlet. "Can anyone see us here?" she inquired.

Merlin was taken aback at the question. Suddenly he felt nervous. "Yes, from any of those windows," he told her.

"Then let's go for a walk." Bellemistis stood up. "Where we will not be seen."

For a moment Merlin stopped chewing. In fact, he stopped everything. Was… was the princess implying what he thought she was implying? Oh God. How was he supposed to handle this? He swallowed painfully and got to his feet. "Anything you say, princess."

* * *

The walk was uncomfortably silent. Merlin took her to the garden maze, because there was a good deal of hedges and vines and secluded corners that he had often wondered about sneaking off to with a book. He allowed her to enter first and followed her obediently.

Bellemistis walked purposefully through the hedges. She nodded approvingly at their height and observed all the flowers as she passed. Abruptly she spotted a bench and stopped. She turned to him.

"Merlin," she began, and Merlin did his best to look like a servant, "did you know that, while Anglicans are more related to mortals than Druids, some Anglicans possess magic?"

Merlin was not sure how to answer.

"Nothing special, really," she said as she strolled around. "Small things. They can… make their eyes change color. Or help a flower to bloom. A rare few can even see magic." Bellemistis looked pointedly at him and smiled. "Would you like to know what you look like?"

Merlin said nothing.

Bellemistis gestured to him and approached. "Your whole body is covered in tattoos. Symbols from the dragon language, I imagine. And they emit a strange golden light. There is magic leaking out of your_ skin._" Her smile became more amused. She sweetly grasped his wrist and traced one of the symbols on his forearm. "The most I have ever seen, actually."

"Is that so," he said tersely.

The princess raised her eyes. Blue met blue. Her teeth showed behind her pale lips. "_Secrets shared before a kiss, forever are sealed behind the lips,_" she whispered, and her smile became even more delighted.

Merlin blinked. "What?"

Abruptly, she said, "By the Dragon Covenant, I ask of you your name."

"Emrys," Merlin said without hesitation. His eyes glinted with silver. Bellemistis raised a hand to cover her mouth. Merlin's heart stopped. "I—I mean… you…" His voice faltered.

Princess Bellemistis lightly grabbed his hand and curtsied deeply. "It is my most humble pleasure, Prince Emrys."

"Shut up."

"No," she said. She shrugged. "There is nothing to stop me from telling the entire world who you are. Unless," her eyes became devious, "you kiss me."

Merlin stared at her. "What?"

Bellemistis pursed her lips and smiled. "Let's put it this way, _sire,_" she said, and Merlin blushed. "I now know a terrible secret. And I am not saying I will tell it, no. But with a kiss, I can never speak your secret, thanks to a simple little spell. Not even under torture."

Merlin considered this. "So you're blackmailing me," he said carefully, "for a kiss?"

"My people are very conservative, Merlin," Bellemistis said with a bored expression. "I'd ask for more but, perhaps you are saving that for the lady." She winked promiscuously.

"I can't believe this!" Merlin exclaimed, blushing. "You—."

Abruptly the Anglican princess snapped out her wings. At their fullest, they would have extended far beyond the hedges, but it was enough to shut Merlin up. "Listen to me, _prince,_" she snapped. "I actually rather like you. But now _you_ know something about _me _that I simply cannot have going around. I am a princess. Do you understand?"

Merlin gaped at her. And then he did understand. Her desires. What she wanted. It was scandalous for a princess. "I would keep this secret, my lady—."

"Don't call me that, we are equals."

Merlin almost fought her, but he snapped his mouth shut when he realized she was right.

Bellemistis sighed and her wings withered inwards. "I am sorry," she mumbled. "Making you reveal something like that to me. That was… improper. And now I have made a fool of myself." Her pale cheeks became pink.

Merlin almost rolled his eyes, because now he felt guilty. "Why," he said, frustrated, "why do you want to kiss _me,_ of all people?"

"Because you actually sat down and spoke with me and that is not something I often get," she said bitingly.

And suddenly, Merlin understood. It had all been an act. She was like him. She was the isolated, virginal princess of the Anglicans, restricted in who she saw and where she went. Her father treated her like valuable goods, to be paraded before the mortal prince in hopes of a bargain trade.

Quietly, he stepped towards her. He smiled a little. "Not that I, um, doubt you'll keep it, or anything," he said uncertainly, "but we might as well make it official."

Bellemistis tried not to look as eager as she was.

"But come on," Merlin teased, "I need a better secret than that."

The princess had a moment of puzzlement, before a bright smile split her lips. "All right," she agreed, and she squirmed with happiness. "My, um, my father would kill me if he knew, but I found a kitten when we toured the Americas, and I—well I smuggled it home." She broke down in nervous giggles.

Merlin couldn't help it. It was so girlish and innocent that he had to laugh. "A kitten?"

"Yes! Her name is Abigail, and I keep her in my room and let her outside at night and feed her bits of my supper."

"That's adorable."

"It's illegal!"

Merlin just shook his head. He cupped her cheek and brought her lips to his. They met and it was warm and sweet, tasting like icing. The princess leaned up into him. Her mouth opened and he allowed it, because he had read that was what you were supposed to do. Their tongues danced, just a little, before she broke away panting, her cheeks glowing with blush and her pupils blown huge.

"That was…" she breathed, but she did not finish.

"It was," Merlin agreed, just as breathless. He was twenty years old, and just had his first kiss.

Bellemistis smiled. "Good practice for Morgana?"

Merlin shrugged and tried not to blush more. "I'll let you know," he assured her.

* * *

They talked for a long time, on the little white bench in the maze. She liked to touch him, he realized, liked just to be near him. Not because she liked _him_ specifically, but because she had been so deprived of human contact. Her hand rested on his, fingers grazed his shoulder—little things, harmless things. It was like they had been friends for ages. Conversation came so easily. Merlin was happy.

"If you're the… the _you know what,_" Bellemistis said seriously, "why did you come to Camelot?"

Merlin shrugged. "A dragon sort of told me to," he confessed. He smiled. "But I really like it here."

She gave him a _look._ "You like it here? You like serving Prince Prettyboy?"

Merlin chuckled. "I suppose I do."

The princess made a disappointed face. She picked up his hand, palm up, and traced her thumb in his palm. "_Thou art winged,_" she declared, "_and yet thou dost not fly._"

"More poetry?"

"Yes." The princess glanced down at his palm again. "Very old Anglican poem, from one of the Epics. An old man said it to a youth, and do you know what he said back?" She looked up at him.

"What did he say?" Merlin asked, humoring her.

Bellemistis's expression became the sour one he had initially known, but only for a moment. "_Perhaps tis that I'm meant to fly, perhaps tis that I'll fly too high. And should I fly above my call, I do not think I'd live the fall._"

"So the boy was scared of failure?" questioned Merlin.

"Yes. He was so afraid of failing that he never achieved his destiny. He became poor and sad and lonely and every young man he met, he screamed at them, 'Fly! Better to fall than nothing at all!'"

Merlin contemplated this as he watched her fingers on his palm. "What if his destiny was to just sit there?"

"Why would someone be destined to sit there and yell at people." It was not a question. To Bellemistis, it was obvious that was not what it was.

"Maybe he was always meant to never do anything, so others could do something."

The princess paused, her fingers hovering above his hand. "That's too sad," she said quietly.

"What are you doing with my hand, anyways?" Merlin asked curiously.

Bellemistis glanced up and smiled. She traced her thumb again. "Thou art winged, Merlin," she told him playfully.

It suddenly clicked. She was drawing a wing.

"Is that some sort of Anglican good-luck charm?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's right here." She held up his palm. "It's golden and it's beautiful. You just can't see it."

* * *

It was getting late, but no one had come looking for them. They left the maze properly, with Merlin a step behind her and she with her regular stern expression. Yet they were friends now. Excellent ones.

"Merlin!" Arthur called. He had a torch in his hand and was just starting down the palace steps. "There you are. Princess, you must forgive my rudeness. I—."

"I understand, Arthur," Bellemistis said without looking at him. "Though you could have been politer."

Arthur grimaced with embarrassment. He looked to Merlin for help, but Merlin just shrugged.

"Is the meeting over?" asked Bellemistis.

"No," Arthur stated. He held up his mobile. "Leon's been texting me. Apparently it's been a four hour argument."

Bellemistis gave a little grin. "Let's go see it then."

* * *

The guards outside the door stepped aside with a slight bow. Arthur pushed the door open, and the noise was suddenly deafening.

"You, _Balinor,_ and your heathen dragon-worshippers are a threat to this entire world!" King Avious was screaming.

"We are not dragon-worshippers, you stupid, dimwitted _bird,_" snapped Balinor. "I am a Dragonlord. By your reasoning I am a king of gods." His eyes narrowed. "And are you simply going to ignore the _pagan?_"

"Pagan!" Uther exclaimed. "How dare you! We are not—."

"The only reason he isn't bashing your religion is because he wants his daughter to marry Arthur!" Balinor concluded.

Uther laughed. "As if I'd allow Arthur to wed a half-breed!"

"Half-breed!?" Avious's wings spread threateningly. "You godless, filthy mongrel! Do you know what your culture is? _Sin!_"

"My culture is pure and _human._ My armies could destroy your little _nest_ of an island without even leaving the city! Do not test me, Avious!"

"You're threatening _me?_" cried Avious. "Meanwhile the witch has his son running amok in our countries and we have no way of finding him! The damned boy is a ticking time bomb!" He pointed accusingly at Uther. "He could be in your court, at this very moment, and you would have no idea!"

Uther's face twisted with rage. "Listen, you _mutt_ of a human—!"

"Father," Arthur said loudly.

All three kings ceased fighting and looked at their children. Leon, the mage, and the soldier looked beyond relieved for the yelling to have stopped. Balinor met Merlin's eyes with panic. Merlin swallowed.

"Did you… resolve anything?" Arthur tried warily.

Uther blew air out of his nose. Balinor pushed his long hair over his ear. Avious's wings retracted slowly, his head bowed with embarrassment.

"Should we continue this tomorrow?" Balinor suggested softly.

"No," Uther snapped. He glared at Balinor. "If I do not have _proof_ that your son is out of my kingdom within the next forty-eight hours, we are at war. Do you understand me, Druid?"

"But I don't know where—."

"_Do you understand me?_"

Balinor pressed his lips together tightly. He chanced a glance at Merlin before he spoke. "I cannot prove anything. So we are at war." He bowed his head stiffly and exited the room. His mage followed him presently.

Uther took a deep breath and turned to Avious. "As for you, Avious, this is not your battle. You are welcome to stay as guests and return when you are ready." He sighed and left.

Avious pursed his lips. He looked at his daughter. "Go and pack, Bella, we are leaving in the morning." And he practically ran from the room. His soldier chased after him.

Leon gave Arthur an apologetic grimace before he exited through the door.

Arthur, Merlin, and Bellemistis were left standing in the conference room, with the air heavy with silence.

Abruptly Arthur spun around and marched off. Merlin blinked and ran after him. "Where are you going?" he exclaimed.

Arthur stopped and said, "I'm not letting my father take us to war with the Druids. I'm going to find Emrys and send him home."

"You're going to _what?_"

Both of them turned to see Bellemistis with her wings out, gliding with every step so that she moved faster. She dropped to the ground in front of them. Abruptly she reached up and smacked Arthur on upside the head. "Of all the foolish and insolent things you could think of to say! You're going to rush out there in search of someone _you don't know—_single-handedly, I might add—and bring this man back to your father within two days?"

"I won't be alone," Arthur said. "Merlin's coming with me."

Merlin blanched. "Sire, I _really_ don't think that's a good idea."

"We'll make the coward come into the light," Arthur proclaimed.

"It will never work," Bellemistis stated.

Arthur scowled. "You don't even know what I'm going to do yet!"

"And neither do you."

Arthur had no retort.

Bellemistis did not try to hide her satisfaction at his face. "What you should do is bait Emrys."

Merlin's eyes widened at her. Arthur frowned. "Bait him?"

"Yes. If you have something he wants, he'll come after it."

"But what would he—?"

"Figure it out!" she snapped. Arthur looked down at her. She waved him off. "Merlin, walk me to my chambers, will you?"

Merlin looked rather taken aback, but he complied all the same. Arthur gawked as they strolled away. Merlin looked back at him and shrugged, but they turned a corner and were gone.

"Are you mad?" Merlin hissed as they walked.

"No, I'm actually very clever." Bellemistis smirked. "Would you like to hear how clever?" she teased.

Merlin gazed at her for a moment. "Oh, all right," he conceded.

* * *

**So Bellemistis kind of takes the place of Freya. Not entirely. We will see her again. I hope you liked her. **


	8. Emrys

_From _Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed._

_Anonymity is a strong Druid tradition. The priestesses practice it alongside the royal family by hiding their faces behind crow feather masks and going by their magic names. All who use magic are born with a magic name. Knowing one's name used to hold a strong power, and by hiding their true names Druids avoided that vulnerability. The royals publicly reveal their names as a way of putting the people before themselves. No being who uses magic can lie about their true name when asked. _

**Chapter Eight**

**Emrys**

"Father, I have a plan."

Uther glanced to the door, where his son was standing with a book in his hands. "For what?"

"To draw Emrys into the open," Arthur said. He was trying not to smile, because his plan was brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

The mortal king blinked. "How is that then, son?" he sighed, clearly tired.

"The Druid prince is probably missing his staff," Arthur explained with as much calm as he could muster. "I'll bet if we let him know we have it, he'll come looking for it."

Uther scowled. "I highly doubt the boy is that stupid."

"Of course he isn't, it's clearly a trap! But he'll risk it, I'm sure of it. Especially if his father is so close by."

For a moment, Uther paused. "So your idea is to incite Emrys to attack us in order to avoid a war?"

"If we want to avoid war we will have to let Emrys walk in and walk out unharmed." Arthur stood up a little straighter, aware that his proposal was risky.

"And how will we know it's him?" snapped Uther.

At this, Arthur smiled a little. "I went to library," he admitted sheepishly. He opened up his book. It was a copy of _Encyclopedia of Druid._ "According to this, Druid staffs are rare gifts. The priestesses issue them, and they're supposedly carved by angels. Or something. Anyways, they're signs of power. And they respond differently according to who is holding them. If it's the owner, the jewel will shine silver, like their eyes. If it's not the owner, but someone the staff trusts, it will—."

"I see," Uther interrupted, not interested in the rest as he peered down at the text. "If we offer Emrys his staff back, make sure the jewel is silver, and escort him to the border, we will avoid breaking Druid tradition and a war."

"Yes!" Arthur said happily. He licked his lips as he waited for his father's praise.

Uther spent a long time staring at the book in Arthur's hands. Finally, he said, "It could work."

Arthur was crestfallen, but he said nothing.

"Go to bed now, Arthur. You have class in the morning."

* * *

"He just brushed me off!" Arthur exclaimed, pacing the room. "It's a damn good plan and he didn't even look at me! I am twenty-one years old and he told me to go to bed like a _schoolboy!_"

"Arthur, do calm down," Morgana said idly. She fixed the polish on her nail as she painted it. "You're getting worked up over Uther. And you know Uther has always been an unresponsive, impossible to impress individual."

"He seemed impressed enough at your swim meets," Arthur grumbled.

Morgana looked at him. "Because that is the most I can do," she snapped at him. "I'm too sick to do well in class and he won't allow me to do any other sport. You, on the other hand, have to train the knights, _be_ a knight, do politics, and practically run a kingdom. You've impressed him so much nothing you do phases him anymore."

Arthur shook his head. "He favors you. He always has."

"He probably feels guilty about my mother."

"And not mine?"

Morgana sighed. She patted the space on the bed beside her. Reluctantly Arthur sat down beside her. "Uther loves you, Arthur. If he didn't, your life would be a lot worse. Now," she adjusted herself eagerly, "tell me about the Anglican princess! Gwen said Avious wants her to marry you."

"I'm sure he wants that, but it won't happen."

"Of course not. But I know you spent the day with her. So tell me about it!"

Arthur grimaced guiltily. "I sort of ditched her," he admitted.

Morgana gaped. "Arthur! That's so terrible!" She giggled.

"I felt bad about it, but I think she and Merlin had a good time."

Abruptly Morgana's giggles ceased. "She was with Merlin all day?" she questioned.

Arthur nodded. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You look upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Morgana, I can tell when you're upset." Arthur peered at her, grinning a little. "Do you have a little _crush_ on Merlin?"

Morgana gave him an exasperated look. "Now you really are being a schoolboy," she told him.

"You do!" he laughed. He poked her teasingly. "Morgana has a crush on _Mer_lin!"

Morgana chuckled and pushed him away. "Oh my God," she said. "You are a legitimate five-year-old."

Arthur snickered. "All right. I'll leave it alone."

"Yes, you will. Now go away. I have swim practice tomorrow morning."

"Wasn't Merlin a swimmer?"

"Yeah. But he said he won't join."

Arthur pushed himself off the bed. "Shame. Now you'll never see him in a Speedo."

Morgana bashed him with her pillow. "Get out, Arthur," she laughed.

"All right, all right, good night!" He hustled out of the room.

"Good night!" Morgana called after him. She got up and closed her door before turning out the light.

* * *

Merlin went to class that day, feeling rather nervous. Gwen watched him carefully and consistently asked him if he was all right. Between chemistry and French he swallowed something Gaius had given him. Fifteen minutes into French he rushed out of the class a pale and sweaty mess, only to vomit not ten feet from the door.

The entire class bore witness. The new substitute told Gwaine to carry Merlin's things and escort him to the campus nurse.

"What's the matter with you, mate?" Gwaine said with genuine concern. "I mean, you're so pale I can see right through you."

Merlin could hardly walk straight, let alone respond.

Gwaine clapped him on the back, something that almost made Merlin sick again. "You'll be all right. It's probably just food poisoning."

But the nurse could not deduce what was wrong with Merlin, and Gwaine had insisted on staying there. The nurse pursed her lips worriedly and offered him the bed to lie down, but he declined. "Gaius might be more help," he managed.

She nodded and instructed Gwaine to walk him home, because in his state who knew what could happen.

Merlin threw up once in the bushes on the way home, shivered his way through the clinic and collapsed helplessly on his bed. Gaius told Gwaine he would be fine, that he would figure out the problem and fix him up. Merlin just curled up tighter and willed the churning in his stomach away.

Gaius placed a small bottle on Merlin's bedside table. "Drink this," he ordered.

Merlin looked at it pathetically. He lifted a trembling hand and managed to down its contents. "That's disgusting," he coughed.

"It will reverse the effects of that pill," promised Gaius. "Did Arthur see?"

"No," Merlin gasped. "But Gwaine will vouch."

Gaius nodded. Already Merlin's face was returning to its natural color.

Merlin gave a swallow and managed to sit up. "Did you tell my mother?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

"She's not happy, Merlin."

Merlin sighed. "I didn't think she would be." He looked up. "Did they go back?"

"Yes," Gaius told him. "But your father will be here in a heartbeat if anything goes wrong."

Again, the Druid prince sighed. He wished his parents would have more faith in him. "Did they call Emrys yet?" he queried.

The old physician stood up and picked up a newspaper sitting on an empty box. "It's been on the telly and the radio. Uther made the public announcement this morning."

Merlin took the paper and examined it. The headline read, _King Calls for Druid Prince._

"All right," Merlin said, and he started to get up. "This is what we want. I'll go right now."

"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed, pushing him back down. "You have no idea what is waiting for your at that castle."

"Uther knows that setting a trap would result in war, he wouldn't do that," Merlin argued.

"You stupid boy, listen to me, he _wants _a war!"

Merlin froze. He looked at Gaius and frowned. "Why would he want that?"

"He hates magic," said Gaius. "He's been yearning for a chance at war for ages. And then you came and gave it to him!"

"I did nothing wrong!"

"You _invaded!_" Gaius snapped.

Merlin pursed his lips and glared. "What do you think I should do, then? Not go? Make it look even more suspicious? Leave the most powerful weapon _ever_ in the hands of the mortals? No! I can't do that, Gaius." He looked away. "I can't betray my people like that."

Gaius stared at him for a long while. Finally, he heaved a sigh and said, "Then you need to know what you're up against."

* * *

Arthur was nervous. His father stood beside him at the top of the steps leading to the entrance hall of the castle. The knights were in two lines, wearing red anti-magic capes with guns and swords at their waists. Reporters from every station clustered at the entrance gate, bearing microphones and talking heatedly to their cameras about what was happening.

Uncertain, Arthur glanced up at his father. The king was stoic. He held Emrys's staff in black-gloved hands, his fingers tracing the ornate designs idly. He watched the gate and said nothing.

The prince's eyes flicked upwards, to one of the windows in the castle. Morgana was there. He could just make out her curly hair and green dress. Guinevere was probably with her. He pursed his lips and hoped Uther did not look their way.

What was Emrys doing? Did he care about his staff? Had he even heard their call for him? Maybe he really was with the Anglicans.

If he didn't come, would they still go to war?

Arthur tensed. Something had flickered in the gate. A figure. He saw it. He was sure of it.

Suddenly it appeared again. Only for a moment, like a street lamp fighting to stay on. More people saw it. Gasps were heard all around.

There was a moment of utter silence. All eyes were glued on that one bit of space, afraid to blink.

Then it was there, fully and utterly _there._ A hooded figure, standing there wholly, with its arms down at its sides and its head slightly bowed.

_Emrys,_ Arthur thought fearfully.

"Uther!" the figure called. "There is no need for all of this. Give me my staff and I will leave peacefully."

Arthur lifted his eyes to his father. The mortal king did not look away from Emrys.

"Why should I believe that?" Uther called.

Arthur's heart sank. _No, Father,_ he thought desperately. _What are you doing?_

"There's no telling what you've seen," the mortal king continued. "You could have been in my court, all this time! Spying!" He sneered. "No, I'll not be returning this. Not until I see your face."

Emrys shifted. Had he been expecting this kind of treatment? Arthur wondered, were he in Emrys's place, would the Druid king act this way?

"You know I cannot, Uther," Emrys called. "Come down from your pedestal and speak to me as equals."

"We are not equal," snapped Uther.

"Then send your son."

Arthur stiffened. He looked at his father. Uther wore a sour expression. "Father, let's just give it to him," he tried.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Arthur, do you have _any_ idea what this staff _is?_"

Arthur almost rolled his eyes. "Yes, I do. But we must keep the peace." He held out his hand. "I will bring it to him."

Uther hesitated, gazing at his son's hand. Abruptly he tore the glove off his left hand and gave it to him. "Do not touch the wood, Arthur," he cautioned. "Who knows what sort of magic he's placed on it."

Arthur slid the glove on and Uther reluctantly placed the staff in his hand. It was lighter than Arthur had expected, and didn't exude a magical presence as he'd thought it would. He took a deep breath and stepped carefully down the steps. All the knights had their eyes locked on him. Arthur kept his on Emrys.

He approached the Druid prince until he was but a meter away, and stopped. He held out the staff. "Here is your staff," he announced. "Take it so we may be at peace." He nodded inwardly, complimenting himself on his word choice.

Emrys smiled under his hood. Arthur desperately wanted to see him. They were of equal height, and he could only see the Druid's lips and a bit of the nose. He wondered if he was horribly ugly. He certainly didn't look very masculine.

"Thank you, Arthur," the prince said, and Arthur straightened up. "I, um, apologize for my… misconduct."

"Whatever." Arthur glanced away. This man had infiltrated his kingdom and threatened an already shaky peace. He was not about to forgive that.

Emrys felt his hostility and awkwardly lowered his head. He reached out to take his staff. Arthur flinched. Emrys pulled back.

"No, take it," Arthur ordered.

Slower, Emrys's hand came forward. His fingers had nearly touched the wood when he unexpectedly yanked his hand away.

"That's not my staff," he stated.

Arthur blinked. "What."

"That's not my staff," repeated Emrys, sounding incredulous.

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Of course it is."

"But it isn't!" Emrys seemed shocked, as if he couldn't believe it wasn't his.

"Just take it," Arthur snapped, and he pushed the staff at him.

Emrys recoiled. "Don't do that, it could be cursed!" he exclaimed.

Arthur was lost. He looked back at his father, who appeared confused. "What is the matter?" Uther called.

"He says it's not his," Arthur replied.

Emrys pulled his sleeve down over his hand and gingerly took the staff from Arthur. "This isn't… honestly… it's not mine."

"Are you implying that it's our fault?" Arthur said defensively.

"No, no, it's just that…" He trailed off, lifting his head.

Arthur frowned, but then he heard it. He swung his head around to see his knights, every single one of them, even his father, raise their hands to clutch their skulls before crumpling to the ground. "Father!" he exclaimed.

There was a clattering, and Arthur looked back to Emrys. The Druid had dropped his staff on the cement and was gripping his head, grunting with pain.

Panic rose in Arthur's chest and he forgot all social barriers as the Druid prince fell. He leapt to his side and kept him upright. Emrys clutched at his shirt, gasping.

"Good evening."

Arthur jumped and looked up. There was a woman standing behind him, and she held the true staff. The gem at the head had a soft, red glow about it. She was smiling. "And good evening to you, your highness," she said with a small, mocking bow.

"Nimueh," Emrys choked.

"Indeed." The witch raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, hoping to intimidate her. "I order you off these grounds at once!"

She rolled her eyes. "Put the Druid down, Arthur, you're much less threatening when you're cradling him."

Arthur let go of Emrys and pulled out his sword. Nimueh laughed. "You think that will scare me? After what I just did to your knights?"

"It's anti-magic," Arthur said confidently.

"My dear boy, do you have any idea how staffs work?" she said coyly. When Arthur's lip stiffened and he did not reply, she shrugged. "To answer your earlier question, I am Nimueh, high priestess of the Old Religion, former Druid, and the reason you are even in this world at all."

Arthur's brow furrowed. Was she… claiming to be his mother? _What?_

"Don't be silly, boy, of course not," she snapped, guessing his thoughts. "But your dear daddy _did_ make me a deal. And then crossed me like a mangy coyote! But," she said with a soft smile, "everything will be all right now."

She left in a breath, like a small breeze blew her away. Arthur blinked, wondering if his eyes had tricked him. But the space she had been occupying held only air now.

From the ground, Emrys gasped. Arthur remembered him and looked down, wondering what he should do. He glanced around at his knights and saw that none of them were stirring. Panic gripped him and he made to run to his fallen father.

"They're not… dead," Emrys said painfully. He gave up and laid down flat on his back. "She couldn't kill this many men like that."

"So where is she, then?" Arthur demanded. Suddenly he remembered Morgana, and lifted his gaze to her window.

She was not there.

"How should I know?" Emrys snapped. He managed to sit up and get to his feet, wobbling a little. "She could be anywhere on the continent."

Arthur gaped. "She's that powerful?"

"With my staff, yes." Emrys shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath through is nose. "All right," he said. "I'm going after her."

Arthur's sword was at his chest in a heartbeat. "I'm not letting you wander my kingdom _alone,_ Druid."

Emrys seemed to be glaring at him. "Nimueh has my staff. I _must_ find her."

"Then I am coming with you."

Emrys laughed at him. "Shouldn't you tell Daddy first?"

Arthur bristled at this. "I don't need his permission."

Emrys looked at him, sizing him up. "How do I know you won't kill me?"

"How do I know _you_ won't kill _me?_" Arthur retorted.

"We'll have to use magic to follow her."

"I know that, you prat."

Emrys hesitated. He swallowed and gave a little nod. "All right, fine," he conceded. Arthur thought he detected nervousness in his tone. He smiled inwardly at this. Emrys was afraid of him, at least a little.

* * *

Merlin was furious, confused, and terrified all at once. Damn Nimueh! He had been prepared for Uther and his men, but not this. How had she gotten his staff? When she was last at the castle? Had she switched them? Why come forth with it now? It didn't matter, he supposed. She had ruined any hope for peace between their nations with her actions.

But why hadn't she told Arthur who he really was? She knew Merlin's face, his false name, everything. She had figured it out. So why keep it secret?

The fact that she knew he was Emrys scared him the most. She could, at any moment, ruin everything he held most dear. He _loved_ being Merlin! And she could take it away so easily.

And, again, she had his staff, which was potentially the most powerful weapon in existence. She could easily start a war. But she was not on anyone's side. He did not know if that was a good thing.

Arthur wanted to come with him and hunt Nimueh. It was _very_ dangerous. Arthur was not an idiot. He could potentially figure out who he was. And that was the last thing Merlin wanted to happen.

"All right, fine," he said. There was no fighting him. Arthur was coming or else Merlin would get a sword run through his gut. He swished his cloak in an effort to seem confident. "Let's get on with it, then," he snapped.

They walked briskly out of the castle grounds and into the street where a dozen reporters were waiting. "Why are we going there?" Arthur wondered.

"I can't teleport with all that AM surrounding me," Merlin informed him.

"Prince Arthur! Prince Arthur! Is that the Druid prince?" one of the reporters called, brandishing a microphone.

"What happened in there?" asked another.

"Are the knights still alive?"

Though they pressed and pleaded for comments, they kept their distance. Merlin didn't know if it was because of him or Arthur. Maybe both.

"If that sword is anti-magic, I can't take it," Merlin told Arthur.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and gave a small nod. He undid his scabbard and dropped it on the sidewalk. "Happy?"

"Is your gun AM too?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

Merlin wanted to smile because their argument seemed so petty, but he had to be certain. Performing magic on AM materials was like being bitten by a snake. It would kill him slowly and weaken his magic unless it was treated immediately, much like Uther's bullet had been doing. "You know anything AM on you will kill me, right?"

"I don't use AM much," Arthur grumbled.

Merlin blinked as he remembered their conversation outside of Morgana's room. _I want it to be a fair fight,_ he'd said. "Of course," Merlin replied. He grabbed Arthur's hand. Arthur yelped and yanked it away. Merlin gave him the best scowl he could with half his face covered and grasped it again. He took a deep breath and put all his concentration on Nimueh, her magic, and the way she felt. "_Áslúpan,_" he said.

Their surroundings suddenly became trees. The sidewalk beneath their feet was now old, dead leaves. Merlin dropped Arthur's hand the instant they landed, and the mortal prince fell over, gasping.

Merlin looked around. "She went here?" he wondered.

"You don't _know?_" Arthur gasped.

"I'm not foolproof, you prat," Merlin snapped. It felt like their first meeting all over again. "Especially with all your anti-magic precautions. It's very difficult. Not to mention she _has my staff!_"

"What the hell does that even mean!"

Merlin stared. "You really don't know how staffs work?" he said incredulously. Wasn't Arthur reading up on staffs just last night?

"I know they respond to their masters in a special way," the prince grumbled, standing up. He brushed some leaves off his trousers. "But otherwise no, not really."

Merlin pursed his lips. Should he tell him? "Staffs are, um, amplifiers, I suppose, for magic. They make it bigger, and louder, and stronger. But it's based on a Druid's own magic. They help their masters the most, but anyone can use them."

Arthur interrupted, "And everyone's been insulting me because I didn't know _this?_"

"Well, there's… other things," Merlin said, his voice going quiet.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

Merlin sighed. "It can hide its owner from anything, even dragons. And sometimes work on its own."

Arthur stared. "Work on its own?"

"Yeah," Merlin replied. "I mean, it's rare, but staffs have been known to… do their own thing, occasionally."

"You mean… perform magic? Without a caster?"

"It's rare."

Arthur's eyes went wide and his expression became exasperated. "So now I'm out here, in the middle of a bloody forest with a _Druid,_ chasing a witch with an all-powerful staff that can hide her from anything."

"I didn't say it could hide _her_ from anything," Merlin said slyly. "It's my staff, after all." He closed his eyes and tilted his face skywards. He sent his magic out, feeling for any traces of Nimueh.

"Anything?" Arthur called with irritation.

"Nothing yet."

* * *

Morgana bolted. The instant she felt that hand clutch her arm she threw an elbow and a punch and took off running. She tripped over something and crashed gracelessly to the ground. At that moment she realized something was wrong.

The ground was not the stone castle flooring she was used to.

In fact, she could feel leaves crunch underneath her.

Morgana's mind whirred as she took this in. She was not in the castle. How? Did she fall out the window? Did she faint? Perhaps this was all a dream.

Wary, Morgana picked herself off the floor and turned around.

A woman was standing there, holding her nose with one hand and an ornately carved staff in the other. A bit of blood seeped through her fingers. She was doubled over with pain, her eyes glaring at Morgana. Unexpectedly her blue eyes flashed yellow. The bright red blood evaporated. There was a sick crunching sound, and the woman straightened up. She appeared far more impressive like this, with her grand staff and unbroken nose.

"Morgana," she greeted, and she sounded unsure.

"The king will send an army after me," Morgana snapped.

"I'm sure he will," the woman replied. Then a smile split her red lips—a genuine, happy smile. "Tell me, love," she began, almost shy, "do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do," retorted Morgana. "_Nimueh._"

"That is my Druid name, yes," Nimueh responded. "But Cara is what my mother called me." She smiled just a little. "Just as I called you Morgana."

Morgana's look of fear became vicious. "What are you talking about," she demanded.

Nimueh's eyes were pitying and apologetic. "I'm so sorry I didn't come for you sooner," she said, and tears slipped down her face. "I just… I wasn't strong enough to ensure your safety. And _look_ what he did to you!" She reached out and cupped Morgana's face.

Morgana swatted her hand away. "Stop it!"

"I will _kill_ Uther for this!" Nimueh hissed. "I will see that he suffers more than any being before him!" Abruptly Morgana's arms were bound to her sides. She was caught in her magic. Nimueh's eyes were livid. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth in a snarl, and she looked ready to kill. Then her eyes softened, and she released her hold on Morgana. "I'm sorry," she murmured, and she dropped into a chair. "I'm to blame for all this."

Morgana did not move. She had to escape. But she was in a tent, it seemed, and that meant wilderness. Not to mention the powerful witch holding her captive. How was she going to outsmart a sorceress?

Quietly, Morgana stepped toward Nimueh. Her hand gripped the table and she sat down hard in the other seat, not daring to take her eyes off of the witch. "What do you mean?" she managed. She hoped she sounded interested.

Nimueh's eyes flicked up to hers. She pressed her lips together a moment as she considered her words. "Morgana, you are my daughter," she said softly.

Morgana's body stiffened, as if she physically rejected the idea. "No my mother was a concubine," she replied placidly.

"Is that what he called me?" Nimueh laughed a little, but it died quickly on her lips. "Uther needed a bit of magic in order to produce an heir. But he didn't want anyone to know that. I was an exiled Druid, and he offered me protection in exchange for my abilities."

Morgana kept herself tense. She absorbed Nimueh's words with anger and panic. Yet no retorts left her lips. The thought of survival made her mute.

Nimueh waited for Morgana to respond, and when she did not, she continued. "However I was proud, and Uther was… not unattractive. And, of course, there was the prophecy going around. I told him I would need some of his seed to cast the spell, and give his queen a son. And of course he obliged." Nimueh looked her up and down, but despite the words the lady remained stoic. "In exchange for his… kindness, I granted his wife with a child.

"But that's not how the world works. One does not just give out new lives like party favors." Nimueh stood up and began to pace the tent. "No, magic gives and takes equally. So when the lovely Ivaine died in childbirth, Uther blamed me. He had been keeping me in the palace, and he knew about you, my love." She met Morgana's eyes. "In fact, I think you saved me."

Morgana's hands clenched into fists.

"He blamed me for Ivaine's death. And he would have killed me if he hadn't thought the pain of losing you was worse." Her expression darkened. "So he took you from me," she whispered, "and banished me from his land."

Still, Morgana was silent.

Nimueh swept up to her, staff and all, and knelt at her feet. Morgana shrunk back into her chair. Nimueh's eyes were full of glee and wonder. "Morgana, don't you see? You aren't like Uther! You have gifts he can barely imagine. Gifts he feels he has to suppress with little pills and _brainwashing!_" She made a sound of disgust. "But I'm here for you now," she insisted, and she grabbed Morgana's wrist. "I'm—."

Her touch took Morgana by surprise. She gave a startled yelp.

And then Nimueh was ten feet away, on her back, staff and all.

Morgana sucked in air and gripped the handles of her chair so hard her knuckles went white. That was magic. _That was magic._

* * *

Merlin felt a sudden wave of magic. It rocked him, and made his breath catch in his throat. He had felt that before, he was sure of it. But it wasn't quite the aura he had begun to know as Nimueh. It was a little bit off.

Merlin decided it was his staff interfering, and came back to himself. "Arthur, let's go." He started walking.

"How do you know where you're going?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin sighed. "A mortal," he snapped, "could never understand."

* * *

Nimueh easily got to her feet, and she was smiling so wide Morgana feared it would split her face. "The prophecy was right! Just _look_ how powerful you are!" she exclaimed, thrilled.

"No, that wasn't me!" Morgana cried, but doubt was beginning to creep into her mind. She could feel it like water fills a well. Memories poured into her mind—times when she had seen her eyes turn gold in the mirror, buttons that had fixed themselves, Arthur getting small cuts whenever he irritated her…

The more she realized these things, the more she denied them. The memories were foggy, anyways. How was she to know what was real?

Nimueh was playing her. Trying to convince her she had magic. She _didn't._ She was just _sick._

Morgana coldly folded her arms and fixed the witch with a piercing stare. "Your tricks will not work on me," she declared.

"I don't need to trick you, child," Nimueh assured her. "But Uther, it seems, does."

* * *

"You're a lot like a dog, you know," Arthur snapped as he jogged after Merlin.

Merlin ignored him, lifting his head to better trace the magic. "I don't understand," he murmured.

"How you're like a dog—?"

"She's extremely close," Merlin stated, cutting him off. "Honestly, we should be able to see her." He frowned. Whatever he was sensing, it didn't feel like Nimueh. "Arthur, I—."

"Did I give you permission to address me by my name, Druid?" Arthur said, and his tone was suddenly deadly.

Merlin's anger flared, and he took a moment to reign it in again. Arthur would never speak to _Merlin_ that way. But to the mortal prince, Emrys didn't deserve to be treated as an equal, not like Merlin. The Druid prince pursed his lips and kept his hurt and fury locked inside. "Arthur something is wrong," Merlin declared, ignoring the prince's demand. "I think there is someone else magical in the area."

"Could it be you?" Arthur's tone oozed sarcasm.

"I can feel their magic over hers," Merlin said loudly to drown out Arthur's snark.

Again, Arthur's annoyance was palpable in the air. "Your magic seems to be a bit faulty, doesn't it?"

Merlin inhaled through his nose sharply. "You are concerning yourself with the wrong problem," he said tersely.

"So… we're not extremely close to her," Arthur guessed. "We're extremely close to this _other_ magician that appeared out of nowhere."

"But it still _feels_ like Nimueh!" Merlin exclaimed with frustration.

"Can't you feel for you staff, or something?" Arthur asked.

"It's not feeling threatened, so it's not signaling me," Merlin retorted.

They sat in silence for a moment, Arthur watching Merlin with his arms folded while Merlin crushed his eyes closed and fought to open his better eyes.

For a moment, all Merlin could see was the dark of his eyelids. Then, suddenly, his better eyes burst open, and magic filled his vision. Most of the colors faded, giving way to a sharp black and white. With his eyelids closed Merlin could see the whole of the forest, and what the naked eye could not.

For example, he could see that tent.

Merlin frowned when he noticed it. It was a white tent, rather small, and only a few hundred yards away. He couldn't really feel any magic coming off it. Whatever the spell was enchanting it, it was not very strong.

He opened his physical eyes and beckoned Arthur. "This way," he instructed, slipping down the dead leaves.

"So _now_ you know where you're—."

Merlin appeared in front of Arthur with his hand over the mortal prince's mouth. "Shush," he hissed. "They'll hear you."

The rage the flared in Arthur's face when Merlin touched him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Arthur's eyes seemed to _burn_ with hatred. Warily, Merlin pulled his hand away. He swallowed. "My apologies," he whispered, "but there's someone there."

Arthur did not speak, which was almost worse. Instead he radiated a cold fury, and Merlin did not know what to do.

* * *

Nimueh froze. Morgana blinked. "Did you—," the sorceress began in a whisper, but she stopped short. She pursed her lips and reached out with her hand. "Morgana, my child…" She took a deep breath. "Come with me."

Morgana did not speak. She tensed up and observed Nimueh's every movement, every word. Her tone was pleading. She desperately wanted Morgana to agree. But her eyes were not looking at her. Her gaze shifted all around the tent, slowly searching for disparities. So something was wrong, Morgana could infer that much. Nimueh had not even finished her argument but something was forcing her to cut it short.

The lady's mind whirred at the possibilities. What could be wrong? Was she sensing something with her magic? Maybe she was communicating telepathically with other sorcerers in the area, and they were sending her a warning? Druids could do that, right? Or maybe the problem was much simpler. Maybe Nimueh had heard something just outside the tent.

Morgana's lips parted in shock. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but she could use it. She might be able to escape with this lapse in the sorceress's guard.

"Come with you?" Morgana said, her voice barely above a murmur. Her voice grew louder. "Come _with _you!? You kidnapped me, stole me from my home, and—!" Her throat constricted for a moment, and suddenly her lips made no sound.

"Insolent girl, be _quiet!_" Nimueh whispered. Her once welcoming hand now curled at the fingers, a grip that looked almost painful. Her blue eyes were alight with gold. "I never wanted to treat you this way but you leave me no choice. You must believe me, Morgana. I am your mother. And I must do what's best for you." Gently she dropped the silent Morgana into the chair. With a flick of her hand she conjured up some rope, and soon the lady was bound and gagged.

Nimueh met her eyes with panic. Morgana countered with daggers for eyes, wishing with all her might that whatever was out there killed the bloody witch. Nimueh almost said something, but changed her mind. Then with a sweep of her cloak she exited the tent.

* * *

Merlin instructed Arthur where to stand, so that they were on opposite sides of the tent's entrance. The prince obliged, but only because he thought he was humoring him. "How am I supposed to attack her without weapons?" Arthur wondered loudly.

Merlin visibly cringed at his volume. "_Shut up!_" he hissed. "She'll _hear_ you!"

Arthur squinted at him. He opened his mouth, but decided against speaking and closed it again. He could not see the tent, or even feel it. In his mind he simply did not want to walk in that area. Merlin felt it too. A small voice in the back of his head saying _don't go there._ That was how the enchantment worked, gently nudging people away from it so that it remained undisturbed.

Abruptly there was a rippling in the air. Arthur saw it and jumped back. Merlin lifted his hands, ready.

The witch appeared as if stepping through a doorway. First her foot, then the rest of her. She had Merlin's staff in her hand. She paused, just for a moment, like a deer hearing the snap of a twig. He watched her eyes widen and her lips pull back in a snarl.

Merlin attacked first. His eyes lit up and the spell jumped from his fingers. Dark blue magic collided with Nimueh and knocked her sideways. She almost fell, but Merlin saw her eyes flash and she caught herself in midair.

As she was leaning backwards, she caught sight of Arthur, who had drawn his gun and was aiming at her. Quickly she twisted herself and lunged forward with the staff. Magic pushed Arthur backwards, and the gun fired wayward.

"_Be ábregdan,_" Merlin said.

The problem with some spells being said aloud is that your opponent can know exactly how to counter. As Nimueh was being yanked towards him, she twisted again and snapped, "_Cyrf!_"

His hold was cut, and she dropped to the leafy floor. Immediately Nimueh scrambled to her feet and shifted, so that she was standing protectively in front of the tent.

They stared each other down. Merlin did not know how she could see his eyes, but hers bored into them. How should he handle this? Nimueh was a threat to everything. His father would give her a trial, but could he afford that now? Merlin didn't think so. Not with Arthur right there.

"Nimueh!" Merlin called, holding his stance. "I'm giving you the chance to surrender." If she accepted, he would render her immobile. As a High Priestess, she was difficult to kill, and had abilities even he could only dream of. He couldn't risk injuring her too greatly. And he was not entirely sure he could kill her.

"Traitor," hissed Nimueh. "How dare you call yourself a Druid? I at least have the dignity to accept my status! But you… you sicken even me."

"I am the prince of the Druids and I order you to surrender!" Merlin shouted. _Please surrender,_ he begged. _Please, please, please._

Nimueh straightened up and smiled, as if she could read his thoughts. "You'll have to kill me first," she said simply.

The sound of a gun firing cut through the air. It startled Merlin, but not so much as Nimueh did. She unexpectedly howled with pain and clutched her cheek, and there was a spattering noise. Merlin flinched when he saw blood on the leaves. He looked left and saw Arthur fire his gun again, this one barely catching Nimueh on the back of her head. She grabbed at her skull and staggered.

"What are you doing!?" Merlin exclaimed.

"I'm finishing the witch," Arthur said bitingly. He walked up and placed the gun right against Nimueh's temple. Before Merlin could say anything else, he pulled the trigger.

Nimueh's whole body lurched with the force of the gun. Her blood and bits of her flesh smattered on the ground, and she dropped to the leaves with a thud.

Arthur reached down and grabbed the staff. "Here," he said, standing up, "take your staff and let's—." He tried to toss it at Merlin but unexpectedly he was yanked back to the ground. "What?" he yelped.

"She's a High Priestess!" Merlin shouted. He ran forward and grabbed Arthur. "She's still alive! And now she's hurt. Run. _Run!_"

* * *

**I hope you all don't mind this take. I always thought the show would go this way with Nimueh. And I apologize for the late update. I've actually been writing this chapter since I posted this story. I'm also a college student now, so updates will be late. Sorry. Thank you for reading, though! I really appreciate it. **


	9. Home

_From _Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed._

_The High Priestesses of the Old Religion, when they achieve full priesthood, are gifted by the dragons the closest known thing to human immortality. They cannot be killed by anything not enchanted by dragons. When they are mortally wounded, their body has the ability to repair themselves. However, during their healing process, their magic go into a defensive state. They are at their most powerful while their body repairs, but the power does not last long, they are physically vulnerable, and are weak afterwards. Priestesses have been known to slit an artery or amputate a limb in times of desperation._

**Chapter Nine**

**Home**

This was an all too familiar scene for Merlin, but it was not mortals chasing him this time. He and Arthur skittered across dead leaves, slipping as they avoiding tree trunks and roots. Nimueh was in hot pursuit. Merlin could feel her magic swelling behind him. They could not outrun her. She was gaining on them.

Merlin made a split-second decision and skidded to a halt on the leaves. "Keep running!" he called as he spun around. He planted his feet and raised his arms. Already he knew which spell to use. He licked his lips and waited.

The wind picked up with a whistle. There hadn't been hardly a breeze before, but now the leaves were fluttering madly and jumping off the ground. The trees began to shake. Merlin adjusted his stance nervously, and then he saw her.

Nimueh approached him slowly. She walked across the leaves with measured steps, using Merlin's staff to aid her. Wind swirled around her in a violent sphere, picked up leaves and her own blood to make it a blur of red. Through it he could barely see her, expect for her eyes. They glowed like small suns, golden and vibrant despite the mess encasing them. Merlin had never seen any Druid's eyes glow like that before. But he had never seen a Priestess this wounded.

"_Fréosan!_" he screamed, and he threw his right hand forward. The ice-blue beam shot from his fingers and was so quick and so powerful it would have frozen anyone else solid. But Nimueh raised the staff and deflected it.

Merlin skittered back a little. He had no real knowledge of what to do here. He felt very, very vulnerable.

Nimueh stopped a ways away from him. Her whirlwind of leaves continued to surround her. Merlin waited for her next move. For a long time, she did nothing.

"_Forlor,_" she said calmly, and she tipped the staff forward.

The ground beneath Merlin's feet exploded. He launched backwards into a tree and hit it hard. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he gasped painfully before dropping back to the ground.

"_Bærnett,_" stated Nimueh, as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Fire came rushing at Merlin, a huge ball of flames that seemed to have teeth. "_Nestan!_" he panicked, pushing himself off the ground. His body twisted in midair like an arrow. He managed to cut through the flames with his spell and stumblingly land on his feet, but the fire torched the leaves and trees. Suddenly the forest was alive with an orange glow. Merlin was sweating with the new heat. Nimueh allowed her protective sphere of wind to die out and the light in her eyes grew more intense.

"I'm going to kill you, traitor," she said simply. "I have seen your face. I will put your head on this staff and show it to the world." Merlin could feel her magic like a chorus. It seemed to be all around him, audible amongst the flames. She was pulling it in, he realized, and getting ready for a massive attack. The gem atop his staff took on a green tinge.

"_Á-áscildan!_" Merlin yelled desperately. He raised his arms and threw up a shield just in time for Nimueh to say, "_Ábradwian._"

Merlin could feel her magic and knew he stood no chance. He was going to die. Was Arthur safe? Oh god, _was Arthur safe?_

Merlin snapped his eyes open in a panic at that thought. His breath caught. Nimueh's magic was coming at him like a single bolt of lightning. He did not have time to close his eyes because it was coming too fast. He could not blink. His blood screamed in his ears. This was the end. This was—

The attack missed.

Merlin did not realize it for several moments after it had happened. The tree next to him shattered into a million pieces, which his shield protected him from, but that was all. He dropped his hands in confusion. "What?" he said.

"What!?" Nimueh cried. She gave his staff an angry shake. The light was no longer glowing. In fact, it looked darker than it should. Suddenly her eyes widened with fear. "No," she whispered. She gripped it with both her hands and panic lit her face. "No no _no!_"

Merlin blinked. "But… what…" He did not understand. He should be dead. His staff should have—

It suddenly clicked in Merlin's brain. _His_ staff. It would not kill him

"No," Nimueh whimpered, and Merlin could just barely hear her. "I was… so close…" Merlin took a step closer as the sorceress fell to her knees. He could see her skin shriveling, as if all the moisture were being sucked from it.

Merlin did not hesitate any longer. He bolted forward, skidding in the leaves as he came to his knees beside her. He grabbed the staff and yanked, but she still held firm. "You have to let go!" he ordered.

"I… can't…" Nimueh wheezed. She looked at him with terrified eyes that were sinking deeper and deeper into her skull. Her cheeks sagged from her face and her lips frowned with age. "Help," she pleaded.

Merlin pulled frantically at the staff. The gem continued to darken. He could feel a heavy presence emanating from it, and he felt weaker just being around it. Nimueh's pleas were now just breathy gasps leaving her dried lips. Her head was now bald and her arms were like twigs.

Panicking now, Merlin gave a final desperate tug and heard a snapping sound. He fell down and looked at Nimueh.

The sorceress was ancient looking. Her body had lost all shape. Merlin couldn't seem to find her nose. And she was looking horrifically at her arms, which were now stumps at the wrist.

Merlin glanced at the staff and dropped it in fright. Nimueh's shriveled hands still grasped it, the withered yellow bone sticking out jaggedly from the skin. There was no blood, though. It had all dried up.

Nimueh tried to say something, reaching out to Merlin from her kneeling position, but suddenly her thighs collapsed. She fell forward and dropped into dust with a shushing sound.

Merlin panted with horror. He could not believe what he had just seen. He did not _want_ to believe it. He forced himself to swallow and looked at his staff. Oh God. How could he touch it now?

He did not hear Arthur approach. Gently the mortal prince knelt down beside him. "What was that," he asked quietly.

Merlin jumped. "Arthur," he gasped. His heart was still pounding, but he forced himself to sit up. "Um," he said, and he clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking. "My staff… it turned on her. When she tried to kill me with…" He looked around and realized the flames were all gone. Only scorched leaves and trees remained. "With fire," he finished.

"I saw," Arthur said. His tone was very level.

Merlin nodded. His racing heart was starting to slow, and his breathing was getting more even. Good, he thought. Arthur saw what happened.

"Oddly convenient," the mortal prince continued, "for the staff to kill her after she said she knew who you were."

Merlin blinked and looked up at him. "What?" he said, bewildered.

Arthur paused. "Nothing," he decided, his voice almost inaudible. He stood up and snapped, "Let's go."

Merlin clenched his fists again. He pressed them into the ground and tried to push himself up, but his legs would not cooperate. "I can't… I can't get up," he mumbled.

Arthur leaned down and picked him up roughly, like a rag doll, and placed him upright on the ground. Merlin swayed a little but stayed up. Then Arthur picked up the staff and shoved it in Merlin's hand. "There," he said curtly. "Now walk."

For a moment Merlin could not move. He leaned heavily on his staff and gathered himself before following Arthur away from the dust of Nimueh.

Neither of them noticed the dim violet glow of the gem atop the staff before it left Arthur's fingers.

* * *

It soon became apparent that they were far from the city of Camelot, but the sun had set before Merlin offered to magic them back to the citadel. Arthur did not exactly agree, but replied with, "Whatever gets you gone quickest."

They rematerialized close to the same spot they had left from. This time Arthur did not stumble on the landing. He strode briskly from Merlin's grasp and did not look back. In the darkness the streets outside the citadel had cleared. Merlin stood alone on the sidewalk, feeling strangely lonely.

"Prince Arthur!" he called abruptly.

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur stopped and turned around. "What."

Merlin swallowed. What did he want to say? _See you tomorrow_ was the phrase that rested on his tongue. "I… want to apologize again for all the trouble I have caused you," he said hesitantly. He considered his next words. "I feel as though one day we could be great allies."

Arthur was stone silent. In the darkness, Merlin could not read his face, but it was as though tension rose up between them. He could feel Arthur's anger radiating from him. And Merlin waited. But the mortal prince was mute.

"I look forward to meeting you face to face," Merlin tried.

Then Arthur spoke, so quiet that Merlin barely heard him. "What," the mortal prince murmured. "_What?_" he snapped. "You dare to think, that after what I just saw, we could be _allies?_"

Merlin's throat tightened. He had made a mistake. He shouldn't have spoken.

"You destroyed that woman," Arthur said in a low voice. "Decimated her. Actually, I don't think there is a word for what you did to her. And you didn't do this when she was uncooperative. You did this when she said she knew you."

Merlin felt as though his heart was shrinking. His chest became tight. It wasn't true! It had been the staff! Yet Arthur's words cut through him like knives. Maybe it _had _been him.

"You're not even denying it!" Arthur suddenly screamed. Merlin jumped. Arthur took a sharp breath through his teeth, and in the moonlight his eyes gleamed. "I do not ally myself with demons," he hissed.

Merlin had no idea when the guards were called, but as he stood there, burning under Arthur's gaze, knights marched out of the castle gates and lined up behind him.

"Escort him to the border," Arthur ordered.

The knights saluted. Merlin felt them turn around him, their anti-magic armor taking over his senses. They did not herd him, however. They were afraid to touch him.

_As they should be,_ he thought. The light on the staff flared at this, and everyone, even Arthur, recoiled. Merlin blinked. The light receded.

For a moment, there was only the sound of panicked breathing. Then, Arthur snapped, "Now!"

The knights straightened up. Merlin picked up his staff and walked with the knights wordlessly. He felt Arthur watching him until he was out of sight, and only then did Merlin glance back.

The border was not far from the city. How else would Merlin have gotten there if it wasn't? They passed through a patch of uprooted trees that Merlin recalled causing, lit up now by several of the knights' torches. It occurred to him that the patrol that night might include some of the men here, escorting him.

"Did I kill one of your fellows?" Merlin asked as they passed one of the fallen trees. And damn him if he didn't sound a little bit smug.

A hand pushed him roughly from behind. Merlin stumbled forward. A small smile curled on his lips.

"Gwaine, don't be an idiot," someone snapped.

There was a grumbled "Yes sir," from behind.

Abruptly Merlin snapped back to himself. Gwaine? He almost called out the name, but stopped himself. His friend Gwaine? No, perhaps his father or something. It couldn't be… could it?

Turning to look would be stupid, but Merlin was full of stupid ideas this evening. He looked.

Gwaine had his eyes forward. Merlin knew he saw him look because of the way his cheek twitched. But behind him marched Leon. So he did not make eye contact with the Druid prince.

Merlin swallowed and faced forward again. These were his friends.

They walked an hour, in silence now. The guard at the front, not a man Merlin recognized, came to a halt and announced the border. In front of Merlin, the knights parted, so that the only opening faced the Druid kingdom.

Merlin wanted someone to say something. None of them did. He thought about speaking, but horrible things came to mind. Curses, taunts, and the like. Why? Why was he thinking these things? And the words wanted to leave his mouth, to come up like vomit and lash out at those around him. People he knew and cared about. What was the _matter_ with him?

Forcibly silent, Merlin took three steps and was over the border. Immediately the knights spread into a line at the border. All eyes were on him.

_Apologize,_ Merlin encouraged himself. _Try and make peace with them at least._ But when he opened his mouth, an insult rose in his throat, and he clamped his lips shut.

He must have stood there too long, for Leon said, "You're free to go now, Prince Emrys." If his words had been any sharper Merlin may have actually bled.

"Yes, yes," Merlin replied. "Forgive me. It's just… I prefer that world." Not an insult, not a taunt. The honest truth.

Leon's expression changed slightly, maybe to something more sympathetic. Gwaine rolled his eyes.

Merlin pursed his lips. Time to go, he decided, before he did anymore damage.

His eyes flashed gold and he disappeared.

* * *

The mortal border had been lined with AM metal fifty years ago. The barrier went all the way around. Anyone travelling by magic would have to stop at the border, physically step over it, and then continue on. But that is not why Merlin went home.

He materialized outside of the _Palais Rouge,_ so named for its rusty red stone, and crossed through the grass. It was the middle of the night. The enchantments surrounding the palace let him pass, because he was of Dragonlord blood. The guards watched him as he walked, but when the magic let him through, they faced outwards again.

The Druid palace had no wall. It was protected solely by magic that the king himself renewed every year. Once, Merlin's father said that if employment ever got low enough, he would commission for a wall to be built. Merlin supposed it never had, but what did he know?

After crossing the enchantments Merlin magicked himself to his bedchamber. It was nothing special. Merlin had never really felt like it was _his,_ not like his room with Gaius was. Nothing in the room said anything about the person that inhabited it. It was kept clean by none of his own doing. The maids ensured its tidiness. Merlin walked by his immaculately made bed and was surprised to see his collection of spell books still resting in the bookshelf, along with a guitar pick.

Merlin thought of Arthur's bedchamber, and the way it looked. The mortal prince had posters on his walls of bands and athletes that he admired. The color scheme was red and warm, unlike Merlin's, which was blue and sad. Arthur kept a collection of history novels on his desk, which was the only part of the room kept clean. Merlin did not even _have_ a desk.

He wanted a room like that, that felt like his. This room… it was not his. It was the room of some person that didn't like anything, that didn't have a personality. It depressed him.

Merlin looked out onto the balcony. It was the only place he had liked. He used to sit there and play guitar late at night, hoping to annoy someone enough that they would shout at him. He never succeeded.

It had been on that balcony that the dragon came to him, asked him his name, and told him his Call. On that balcony, Merlin's life had begun.

That was why he went to Camelot. That was why he met Arthur. The longer he had stayed in the mortal realm, the more convinced he was that he was supposed to be there.

"Emrys."

Merlin lifted his head. He pulled off his hood. "Father," he greeted plainly. King Balinor was in his nightclothes, standing in the doorway Merlin didn't remember leaving open. "How did you know I was here?"

"I felt it," Balinor replied. "Just as I felt it when you left."

Suddenly Merlin was ashamed. "You knew and didn't come for me?"

"I knew you had gone," admitted the king. "And honestly I didn't blame you. I still don't. I just…" He sighed. "Couldn't you have picked a more magic-friendly country? Like anywhere else in the world?"

Merlin had to smile. "The dragon told me Camelot."

"Of course it did," Balinor muttered. He strode into the room and sat down on the edge of Merlin's old bed. "Pesky beasts."

"Don't let them hear you saying that," Merlin said with a grin. He joined his father. "How is it here?"

"Dreadfully dull," Balinor informed him. "For the past two months no bombs have gone off in the West Wing and our dinners haven't been spiked with ghost peppers." He smirked. "I knew that was you."

Merlin bit back a smile. "Does the food taste good now?"

"No, it's rather bland in comparison," Balinor chuckled. "So, tell me, have you seen a film yet?"

"No!" Merlin complained. "Gaius won't take me and he doesn't have a television."

"You're kidding me!" Balinor exclaimed. "No, go get Prince Arthur to take you. He'll do it, I'm sure." When Merlin blushed, Balinor just grinned. "Don't be ashamed, son! You have friends! People who _like _you. Despite the way that mortal acts he certainly would do anything for you."

"How can you tell?" Merlin wondered, still embarrassed.

"Prince Arthur is a loyal soul. The moment he meets you he decides if he is willing to die for you or not."

Merlin considered this. He had watched Arthur around his knights and his teammates. The prince cared that everyone did their best. He never was mean unless he knew someone was not trying. Then he was vicious.

"And what sort of soul are you?"

Merlin looked up at the question. He wanted to answer, but then he realized he didn't have one. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I hope I'll find out."

They fell into comfortable silence, as they often did. After awhile Merlin said, "Dad, did you know I met the Anglican princess?"

"I did." Balinor looked at him curiously. "How was that?"

"She told me I was winged, but I wasn't flying," Merlin told him. "She said, I could be so much more, but I was holding myself back. And she told me this Anglican story about a man that never did what he was destined to do, and so he became a warning to others, miserable and unhappy."

"I see."

"And I said, maybe that _was_ his destiny, to make others keep going."

Balinor nodded slowly. "What did the princess say to that?"

"That there was no way anyone could have a fate so cruel."

For a moment, Balinor was silent, absorbing all that Merlin had said. "Emrys," he eventually murmured, "what exactly did that dragon say to you?"

Merlin waited a moment. He both wanted his father's help and adamantly didn't at the same time. "It said that I was bound to Albion, destined to 'help the once and future king unite the Druids and the mortals'." Merlin shrugged. "So I'm destined to help."

"Dragons are obnoxious creatures that speak in riddles and enjoy watching you spin until you figure it out," snapped Balinor. "Don't dwell on one word."

Merlin hesitated a moment longer. "It also said I would live to see the end of everything. 'While everything ends, you alone will be standing'." Merlin looked at his father. "What does that mean?"

Balinor pursed his lips. "Perhaps the end of the world is closer than we thought, then," he said lightly.

"Or?" Merlin prompted. He did not want to say what conclusion he had come to until his father said it first.

"Or you will live a very long life." Balinor's tone implied that the conversation ended there.

"Please, Father, I don't want to say it—."

"Then don't."

Merlin closed his mouth.

For a long while, they were silent. Finally, Merlin could not stand it anymore. His guilt came rising up in his chest and he had to speak, had to tell someone what he had done. "I killed Nimueh," he said fearfully.

His father gave him such a sharp look that Merlin could feel it cut into him. He could not meet the king's eyes, and he felt sick. How could he have done such a thing? Merlin, who felt sick at the sight of blood, had obliterated the witch. His stomach rolled as he remembered his words to the knights hardly three hours ago. _Did I kill one of your fellows?_

Merlin's fists clenched and he felt as though he would vomit. He felt like digging his fingers into himself. Maybe if he dug deep enough, he could dig out the bad parts and be good again. Be himself.

Merlin jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He snapped his head up to look at his father and instantly looked away. Balinor's eyes could see right through him. Merlin could feel it. But it was not what he was expecting to feel.

"You're not in my head," he commented warily.

"No, Emrys," Balinor said gently. "I won't look for anything you don't want me to see."

Merlin took several deep breaths. His eyes were stinging. "I… she had my staff and I followed her, Father. I had to bring Arthur with me. A-and when she attacked me I told him to run." Another deep breath. His voice grew shakier. "She would have killed me. I knew it. And then my staff turned on her. It destroyed her." He nodded, reassuring himself that that was what happened.

Balinor was quiet for a moment. "Did Arthur see?"

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded. "He thinks I killed her because she knew who I am."

"She knew?"

"Yes."

The king stood up and ran his hands through his hair. "How did she know?"

"Kilgarragh said it was because—."

"Who?"

"The dragon, Father. The mortals have the Great Dragon Kilgarragh captive under the city."

Balinor's eyes flickered. Merlin had never seen that look before, but his father looked—conflicted? "And it told you what?"

"It said my powers are too strong. That I'm like a signal flare."

The Druid king nodded, as if it made sense. "It may be right, Emrys." He grabbed his son's shoulders and forced him to look at him. "But do not trust it. Give it nothing, Merlin, that you think it can use against you. In fact, don't give it _anything._"

Merlin nodded. He was sure his father was right. And Merlin did not have it in him to fight about anything.

"Your Dragonlord training has been put off, and I'm sorry about that," said Balinor. "There just isn't time to train you now that you are pretending to be mortal. It would look suspicious."

"I know," Merlin said. He was starting to calm down, his focus being drawn to something other than his guilt.

Balinor looked at him sadly. "I wish I could help you more than this."

"What about my magic?" Merlin wondered. "If it's so strong, won't I be discovered?"

The king paused. "I'll do some research," he told him. "I'll find you something. In the meantime keep your head down. Don't do any magic. Don't sleep more than you need to. Your magic can do strange things when you sleep."

Merlin nodded and nodded. His father pulled him to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. "Oh my boy," he whispered. "I feel silly, telling you all this." He sighed. "But I hope it will help." Balinor pulled away. "You should be getting back to Gaius."

"Can I see Mum?" asked Merlin quietly.

* * *

Hunith was happy to be woken in the middle of the night by her son. She smiled sleepily when she saw him and asked him how things were going in a voice that could barely form words. Merlin told her everything was fine, that he loved her and missed her and she hugged him tight, like she used to when he was small.

"How did it all go?" she inquired gently, and he knew she was talking about getting his staff back.

Merlin swallowed. "Dad will tell you," he decided.

They talked for a few moments more before Hunith smiled one last time and told him he should get going. Merlin was relieved she said so, because his guilt was rising up again now that he had spoken with his mother. Balinor nodded in agreement with his wife and offered to walk Merlin to the edge of the enchantments.

"Now," Balinor said as they walked, "this is how it should have been."

"What?" asked Merlin, pulling his hood up.

"Your leaving," replied the king, and they both halted at the edge where they knew the spell ended. "I should have walked you to the edge, right here, made sure you had your staff and toothbrush and the like. And told you good luck, or something." Balinor smiled sadly. "I will miss you, son. Come home when you can."

"I will," Merlin said, and he meant it. At least, he did right then.

"I'll get back to you about shielding yourself," said Balinor.

"Thank you."

"Be safe."

"Yes, Dad."

"Give Uther a hard time for me."

"Okay, I will."

"And always—."

"_Dad._"

Balinor smiled wanly, and his eyes began glittering. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as if holding off tears. He leaned forward and kissed his son on the forehead. "Take care."

Merlin nodded. He embraced his father one last time before stepping over the enchantment. With a single glance back, he disappeared.

It was much easier crossing the border this time. He had a good memory of where he was going and could trace his own magic back to Gaius's clinic. When he appeared at the border, he crossed quickly and vanished again before his feet had even touched the ground.

Merlin appeared in Giaus's kitchen and frowned. He had meant to end up in his room. But then his stomach growled angrily and he supposed it made sense.

"Merlin?"

Merlin turned. "Gaius, you're still up!" he exclaimed.

"Of course I am you stupid boy, what took you so long!?" the old physician demanded.

"I went home," Merlin told him simply.

Gaius shook his head. "You need to tell me these things! What happened? Was Morgana with you?"

"Morgana?" Merlin frowned. "No, she wasn't with us at all, why?"

"Take that off and come with me," snapped Gaius. "The Lady is missing. We are needed at the palace."

***My sincerest apologies for this taking so long. Next chapter starts Part 2 of this story. Yay! I hope you are all finding this in character and entertaining still. College life is a bore but it owns me so I have to do it. **

**Thank you all for reading! Any and all criticism is sincerely appreciated!***


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